Past, Present, Future
by portalkeeper
Summary: WIP Post 'Chosen', BS. Buffy tries to move on, but runs into a few difficulties. An opportunity to make things better arises when she uses a certain talisman...
1. Mirror, Mirror

A/N: Post S7. Not too satisfied with how things have ended up, Buffy decides to take things into her own hands. This won't be updated very regularly, at least not until I finish a few other fanfics. But it will get updated, and will be rather long.

She stared into the mirror hanging above the small sink of the bathroom. Grimy marks covered the glass, faint traces of oil and dirt that were barely noticeable. But looking very carefully, she could see it all. She could see all the signs of the other people that had used this bathroom and checked into this room, in this motel, in this town in the middle of nowhere.

"Hey, B, what do you want on the pizza?"

The yell from outside the cramped bathroom startled her out of her reverie. Buffy Anne Summers flushed self-consciously and allowed herself a tiny smile. She had promised to get on with her life. And here she was, blanking out in a locked bathroom. Was this her way of appreciating the world that had been saved?

Someone was now tapping on her door.

"B, you still alive in there?"

Buffy took a deep breath and swung the door open. Rather too quickly, as a taller brunette practically crushed her tiny frame. After a few moments of flailing limbs, both girls righted themselves with Slayer grace.

"Anything but anchovies," Buffy replied smoothly, tucking a piece of stray hair behind her ear.

"Okay," Faith answered with a nod and plastic smile. Then her smile faded. "You okay, B?" she asked, invoking a seriousness usually masked by her normally devil-may-care attitude.

Buffy nodded. "Of course," she said, trying not to sound defensive. "Why wouldn't I be? I mean, after all, the world didn't end."

Faith shrugged, offering the blonde girl a small but genuine smile. "I just thought, maybe you wanted to talk—"

"Don't," Buffy said brusquely, brushing past the other girl. "I'm absolutely starved!" she added quickly and way too cheerfully. "Let's go order that pizza."

***

Faith shook her head, watching the blonde Slayer walking quickly out of the small room, presumably to her ex-Watcher's, where the rest of the gang awaited. The Potentials—no, they were Slayers now, weren't they?—included.

The Scooby gang. Faith still felt like an outsider at times, but really, everybody here felt like an outsider in their own way. Sad how the Scoobies had become a gang of outcasts. She still remembered when she had been the only one who hadn't belonged. The "new kid." The outsider.

That had been almost five years ago.

Things had been so different then. Simpler. The lines between right and wrong had been so clearly defined.

She had been the black sheep of the Slayer line. She had been bad, and she had liked it.

But at least she had known where the line had been. She'd known that Buffy, her Watcher, family, and friends were the good guys. She thought that even now.

But sometimes she couldn't be too sure. She knew things about the kindly Watcher that made her blood run cold. His actions alone should have condemned him to nothing more than a "bad guy," like she'd been. And maybe still was.

And five years ago, he would have been. If they knew what kind of person he was, what he had done and was willing to do, the Scoobies would have teamed up to destroy Giles, like they'd teamed up to destroy Richard Wilkins III. 

Nostalgia and grief rose in her throat, along with a certain faint bitterness. Like bile. She swallowed it back down, determined to keep the past just that—in the past. It was no use grieving for a dead man—an evil man who had sold his very soul, who hadn't even been a man at the end. A man who loved to play golf and was almost obsessive over cleanliness and personal hygiene. A man who she honestly believed had loved her in his own twisted, fatherly way.

It wasn't just the Watcher who had turned to a darker shade of gray. Sweet, innocent Willow, who had been the wallflower in high school…

She hadn't been around for it, but she'd heard how Willow, the shy one, had almost destroyed the world. And had killed people in cold blood. Kinda like Faith herself.

What she was around for the redheaded witch's returning of Angel's soul. That had been something. That chick was one powerful Wicca. And as if that hadn't been enough, why, just a few months ago, Willow had pulled off that spell, the one that activated all the Potentials. 

Now _that_ was really something. Faith sure didn't want to get on the wrong side of her.

Even Xander had changed. Still joking, still the stand-up comic of the group. But he wasn't the virgin she had laid so long ago, the boy who had yet to grow up despite all that he had witnessed. Xander was different, a man now.

And the differences weren't just physical, like his lost eyesight. The boy had grown to understand the world he'd had the misfortune to be born in. He'd grown to understand and _accept_, which few people Faith knew had the balls to do. And accepting his insignificant role, Xander chose to fight. He wasn't chosen; he didn't have any supernatural powers to aid him in his struggle, yet he chose to take up the fight anyway. He'd learned how to fight. How to do what was necessary to win. And he'd learned to make sacrifices like all of them. 

He'd smiled when Andrew had told him. Joked, even.

The innocent boy had grown into a ruthless yet never unfeeling man.

Faith sighed. Even the false brightness she'd put on for Buffy had left her.

Then there was Dawn. According to them, Faith had never met her before. Had never even held her hostage with Joyce that time four years ago, when she'd first awoken from her coma. 

Had never talked with the girl, never spent Christmas Eve with her and her mother when Buffy was out. Dawn had never looked up to her, albeit briefly, and tried to imitate Faith down to her style of dress.

Needless to say, Joyce hadn't been impressed. But then again, that had never happened, had it?

Well, no matter what her made-up memories said, Dawn had changed. She wasn't a kid anymore, that was for certain. She was a young woman now. She was gifted at research, practically an expert with ancient texts. Adept at combat. And apparently a computer whiz, too.

And such a cold expression she'd never imagined on the face of one so young when she'd stepped into the Summers' residence for their first real meeting. According to others she'd spoken to, the kid had done worse and said worse than she had glimpsed. And her interest in demons and carnage was definitely unsettling, even for Faith. 

All in all, a grown woman in the body of a teenager. Even more terrifying than her sister, not that Faith would ever have admitted it.

Next was Robin. Robin Wood, who had surprised her more than once. Maybe they'd even develop a relationship in the future. Nothing was hurried now, though. Nothing was rushed as they slowly made their way across the world finding the other Slayers. 

__

Other Slayers. That was still a somewhat foreign concept, even now. That those girls in Giles' room bickering over pizza selection were all Chosen…

Faith shook her head in wry amusement. Young girls, so unsure of themselves. They barely knew what Slayers did, what they were meant to do. Ah, well. They had time to learn now, all the time in the world.

__

Hmm. 

And how exactly had that happened? How had the apocalypse been stopped, how had the Hellmouth closed?

__

B hadn't been too clear on that.

Oh well. They could talk about that later, when B was ready. The blonde Slayer had been so…withdrawn…lately. Oh sure, she acted like nothing was wrong, like everything was just peachy keen. But Faith could tell. Faith could always tell.

Buffy had changed in so many ways. Four years ago, during the little body-swap episode, she had been such a good girl. So self-righteous. It was that attitude that had made Faith hate her with a passion.

Yet half a year ago, when Faith had seen her again, Buffy had been like a different person in the same shell. What…and who…she did…

Faith shook her head, a ghost of a grin on her face. Why, she'd never have thought of it in her darkest imaginings. B had managed to shock even her. But in the end, Buffy had been righteous, right? Righteous and triumphant.

So what was so off? Why were her laughs hollow, why did her smiles never reach her eyes?

Faith shook her head. By now, the pizza was probably already here. She'd better go grab a couple of slices before those girls scarfed everything down. 

Man, those Slayers could eat.

TBC


	2. Mr Perfect

The girls were cleaning up the pizza boxes, wiping away the sauce. Slayer skills were all focused completely on the task at hand, the dreaded after-dinner cleanup. Paper towels and bottles of disinfectant were used very liberally as they tried to get the spots of cheese and tomato sauce out of the motel carpet.

"Buffy, can I speak to you for a minute?"

A blonde girl jerked up, pizza sauce still on her chin. For a moment, she had a deer-in-the-headlights look, but that quickly passed.

"Giles? Sure, what's up?"

He gave her a look, then glanced at the other oblivious girls. "In private."

***

"So, what was so important that you had to drag me away from cleanup duty?" Buffy asked, leaning against the plaster wall. She crossed her arms in what she hoped wasn't a defensive stance. "Not that I'm complaining, of course."

The Watcher sighed, unconsciously removing his glasses and polishing them on the hem of his shirt. "Buffy, do you feel all right? Perhaps you should take a few days off, stop training for a bit. Take a vacation."

"I'm fine!" she said forcefully, biting her lip to keep from screaming. 

__

God, if I got asked that one more time…

Giles glanced at her. "You've been a bit unfocused lately. Your technique has gotten rather sloppy and I'm afraid you're growing careless, Buffy. Whatever it is, you need to get it under control…"

The blonde girl stared at him, unblinking. Shocked. A slow smile began to creep onto her face.

__

Good old Giles. 

She'd thought that the Watcher was like all the others, checking up on depressed little Buffy, making sure she wasn't going to off herself anytime soon. But he was lecturing her on doing her job, giving her a reason to pull herself together. He'd always known what to say, what to do.

__

He'd known and accepted before I ever did.

True, she had hated him. Hated him, blamed him, cursed him. Tried to ignore his lessons. But in the end, hadn't she listened to him after all?

"…and the girls, they all look up to you. Buffy, you _cannot_ allow yourself to slack off. It is your duty…"

Her _duty. _A small smile appeared on Buffy's face. Yes, her duty. She had a duty, didn't she? A promise to fulfill. 

__

"Go on, then."

__

Go on. Go on and get a life, Buffy.

"…you understand? Buffy, Buffy? Are you listening?"

She shot the bemused Watcher a quick smile.

"Thanks for the pep talk, Giles. Feel much better already."

Buffy skipped off hurriedly, leaving the Watcher to stare after her in utter confusion.

"I _was_ giving a stern reprimand."

***

The accursed ice machine. Wouldn't work, no matter how hard she kicked it. Unless, of course, her Slayer strength had broken the mechanism. In that case, she was even more screwed. Dawn would be raising hell if the ice bucket came back empty.

With a small groan, Buffy leaned into the machine, resting her forehead onto its smooth, cold surface. Just let herself relax for a moment and rest on the cold, hard exterior of the ice machine.

"Hey, you need help with that?"

The blonde Slayer jerked up, looking guilty, like she'd been caught doing something wrong. Only a moment later did she realize that the voice was unfamiliar and belonged to a man-shaped stranger.

A man-shaped stranger that loomed more than a foot over her in height and had very nicely defined biceps peeking out from under a loose light-gray T-shirt. A man-shaped stranger with dark brown curls and pretty green eyes like the kind she used to dream about as a girl. Darkly tanned skin that she could lick and a soft-looking little mouth she couldn't wait to…

"What? Oh, uh, no. Not at all. It's just…the ice won't come out. So I guess I do kinda need some help after all."

__

Way to go, Buffy, She chided herself. _Since when did you inherit Willow's babbling skills?_

"Here, let me get it for you." He bent down and Buffy resisted the urge to lick her lips. 

He looked vaguely familiar. She'd probably seen him before at the motel, just another faceless stranger. But this encounter was different, wasn't it? She'd come here to move on.

Clank. Clank. Clank-clank-clank-clank-clank. 

"Here." He handed her the newly filled bucket with a smile. A very sweet and innocently beguiling smile. 

"Th-thanks," she muttered under her breath, trying not to blush as she stared into those trusting green eyes. "Uh, I gotta go. Back, to my room."

"Okay," he answered with a nod. "Wait!"

She stopped dead in her tracks.

"Uh, I wanted to subtly ask for your name and number, but you kind of rained on my plans for that," he explained with a perfectly serious expression, with only the tiny sparkle in his emerald eyes giving away the fact that he was attempting to come onto her. 

She gave a tiny smile. "I'm Buffy. Buffy Summers, staying in room one-oh-four with my annoying little sister. I don't really have a phone number right now, but I'll be here till the end of the week."

"Buffy. Buffy, that's a very unique name. I'm Mark. Room one twenty-eight. Here till next week."

"Well Mark, maybe I'll see you around," she said coyly. 

"Later, Buffy."

***

"Get up, sleepyhead," the annoying voice of her little sister yelled from somewhere close by. "Breakfast!"

"Urg." 

"Buffy, get _up_!"

The shriek in her ear awoke the blonde Slayer. 

"I'm up, I'm up," she said, suppressing a yawn and throwing back the covers. Time to get up and face the crowds for another fun-filled day.

"Took you long enough. Now hurry up and get your butt to breakfast in ten minutes."

Buffy watched in mild shock as her younger sister—her baby sister, who was about half a foot taller than her—gave a dazzling lip-glossed plastic smile and headed off.

When had things come to this? When had Dawn of all people become the responsible one? When had her baby sis started acting like…well, like her? It was like their roles had been switched. Dawn was the one who nagged, Dawn was the one who made sure she was on track. 

Was this a part of moving on?

With a growl, Buffy stalked into the bathroom.

***

It wasn't too bad for a motel. At least they served breakfast. And one thing Buffy couldn't complain about was the breakfast buffet.

"Good morning, Buffy. Glad you could join us for breakfast."

She smiled wanly at her ex-Watcher. Funny, how he had been fired by the Council, reinstated, lost his job when the Council was blown up, and was finally rejected by his charge. And yet the man was still here, offering his guidance and support.

Not to mention a more hefty checkbook than anyone else possessed in their little gang.

But just because Giles paid for their board and keep didn't mean Buffy had to be social this early in the morning. Over the years, she had become less and less of a morning person. 

__

Definitely a night person.

Well, that partly came from the company she kept…which was something she was going to change, right? Part of the whole "moving on" process. Speaking of moving on…

Buffy's eyes trailed over the sliced fruit section she was perusing, over the glazed donuts, and finally settled on the display of bacon and eggs. Or, more importantly, the tanned arm that was currently helping its owner to a serving of greasy bacon.

He looked even more yummy in the light. She could see the toned muscles and broad, smooth face, the curls of thick dark brown hair and sparkle of green eyes. Every girl's definition of perfect.

Before she could think better of it, Buffy took a deep breath and sidled over, pretending interest in the extremely fattening and unhealthy red meat dripping with oily grease.

"Hey, Buffy!"

She looked up, feigning surprise. "Oh, hey. Mark, right?" she said with a smile as fake as her hair color.

He gave a genuine smile in turn. "What a surprise meeting you here. Breakfast and all. Not that I thought you didn't eat breakfast or anything."

She gave a little laugh in what she hoped was a light and flirtatious manner. _So_ out of practice. 

__

Well, here's where the practice comes in, she berated herself silently. _Now go for it, before you lose another chance._

"So, what are you doing today?" she blurted out. "'Cause I was kind of thinking…I'm free tonight."

__

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Now you've probably scared him off for good. At least it's better than being too late.

"Are you asking me out on a date?" Incredulous green eyes peered at her from his broad, smooth face. His small, bud-like mouth opened in surprise.

"Yes?" she said hesitantly, only now aware of the unbelieving gazes coming from the direction of the Scoobies. She could imagine them whispering amongst themselves.

__

"Buffy_ wants to go on a _date_?"_

"Wow, the first new guy she sees, and she's practically climbing all over him."

"Sure didn't take her long."

"What a slut."

The blonde Slayer was so caught up in her own thoughts she almost didn't notice Mark's response.

"I'd love to! You've just caught me off-guard for a moment there. Buffy, I hope you don't think I'm an imbecile. But I've never been asked out by a girl who's smart, gorgeous, and actually interested in me before."

All Buffy could do was smile nervously and ignore the whispers that came not from the silent table behind her but the recesses of her own mind.

***

Italian.

Music. Candlelight. Wine.

Pasta. Garlic bread. Salad. 

She'd never had a date like this before. Given, she didn't really have many dates at all. And definitely not many which involved alcohol. But then again, the few "normal" dates she'd gone on had been before she could legally drink and get away with it.

She had Italian before of course, in a restaurant with similar settings. Only that restaurant was now interred below ground with the rest of Sunnydale. 

She'd had dinners like these with another tall, tanned hunk, with another nice, reliable guy.

"This is fun," he said, smiling that sweet green-eyed smile of his. 

"Yeah," she agreed quietly, breaking off a small piece of garlic bread. But it wouldn't go down her suddenly closed throat. She laughed silently, to herself. She'd never been the one who'd had an aversion to the stuff before.

"Buffy, I like you a lot…"

If this had been two days ago, she would have jerked up, either apologized for leading him on or clocked him in the face, and left. 

"…never met someone like you before. You're a very special girl, Buffy. I hope you don't think that I say this often…"

But now, she only half-listened to his words with a smile. Just like Dawn's smile, with the same exact lip-gloss she had bummed off her sister earlier.

"…getting late. Sorry, I guess I've droned on and on. I hope you don't mind…"

She only continued to smile and nod at the appropriate places. And before she knew it, they were in a taxi, heading back to the motel.

***

She blamed it all on the wine.

"Here's room one-oh-four."

Buffy stared at his smooth, tanned face, at the shadow of a day's beard on his chin. She didn't listen to his words, only looked at his soft mouth, imagining how it would feel on…

"Where's your room?" she demanded, unwary of whether she had cut him off halfway.

"Um, it's just down this hallway—"

"Perfect," she said, lurching off into that direction and almost stumbling for her efforts. Strong arms caught her as she wavered, the alcohol taking its toll. She buried her face into his chest, inhaling deeply of the nice boy smell he gave off. She let him guide her toward his own room, aware of nothing but the hard chest against her cheek, the clean smell of his clothing…

The warmth that radiated through the layers of cloth. The steady beating of his heart.

Buffy drew back just as Mark pushed the door open and haphazardly stumbled with her into the room, barely managing to close the door before falling onto the full-sized bed.

"I-I c-can't," she mumbled, pressing her face against the covers. "I'm sorry. B-but I-I…"

Such hurt in his green eyes.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He tried to smile. "It's alright." He stood up, ever the gentleman, and walked to the door. "I'll walk you back."

__

Move on, Buffy. Isn't that what you decided?

She grabbed him before he could reach the door. Grabbed him, practically flung him onto her. His six-foot-plus frame almost crushing her.

"Buffy, what—"

"Shh," she whispered. "I changed my mind."

***

She stared off into space, at the pale moonlight coming through the half-closed blinds. She looked back at the man sleeping peacefully, exhausted. In the silvery light, he looked little more than a boy.

And he _was_ a boy, nothing more. A mere boy with dimples and soft edges. So soft, so vulnerable. So innocent, so naïve. He had fallen asleep with exhaustion, and she wasn't even satiated.

With a pang, she realized that she had merely used him. A nice, reliable, Joe Regular kind of guy. Like Riley had been. A normal guy, a dependable guy.

Both he and Riley had been rebound. Just her trying to move on and failing miserably.

__

Not my type.

No, of course not. She had chosen the exact opposite of her type, hadn't she? Mark was a nice guy. Sweet, trusting. 

And everything about him was the antithesis of what she craved.

He smelled nice, like fabric softener. He wore brightly-colored clothing. He didn't smoke.

He towered over her. Even with all his muscles, he was still so soft. He was so natural, so innocent. His skin was darkened by the sun. His eyes were warm.

__

He was warm. His heart knocked steadily in his chest. He breathed in his sleep.

He was human. He was alive.

__

I'm one twisted person, she thought bitterly, _if those things aren't my style._

Quietly, she slipped on her clothes in the dark. Looked at him one last time, outlined by the glowing moonlight. The boy. What did he know of passion? What did he know of the darkness in her that could not be satiated by such youthful innocence, such purity?

"I'm sorry," she whispered, giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead.

Then, quietly, very quietly, she slipped out into the night.


	3. True Blue

A/N: Thanks for all the comments in the review box! First of all, let me just say that I'm definitely a Spuffy shipper and point out that the last chapter was actually more satirical as opposed to literal (filled with the somewhat sarcastic musings of a bitter B/S fan), in case some of you didn't notice. And lots of cookies for those of you that did! J 

Italics are thoughts.

This story will become B/S very soon. But for now, follow Buffy a bit further along the river of Denial as the stage sets for Spuffiness. And I'll try to update ASAP, but it won't be immediate unless you want this to sound like crap. J 

"Buffy, BUFFY! God, is that all you do? Sleep?"

The blonde Slayer groaned, reaching out an arm to bat uselessly at the annoyance.

__

Five more minutes, Mom. Just give me five more minutes.

"BUFFY! Get UP!"

Thump.

Buffy was suddenly not on the soft, warm mattress. Buffy was suddenly on the cold, hard floor. She rolled over, still tangled up in the sheets, her head pounding with a massive headache, and squinted up through the bright late-morning light at her mother—no, sister.

__

Dawn, right. Not Mom.

Buffy forced a somewhat strained smile.

"I'm up, Dawnie."

The glaring teenager's gaze softened. Shockingly fast, she changed from bossy and righteously indignant to giddy and rather mischievous, with a sly little smile on her glossy lips.

Buffy realized that Dawn was wearing the same lip-gloss that she had "borrowed" for her date. And with that realization came all the events of the night before, from the wine to the sex to the…

__

Well, at least that explains the hangover.

"So, how was your date with Mark? Did you guys make out? 'Cause you know, you got back _really_ late last night."

The Slayer winced at her sister's flippant words.

__

I really am_ a slut._

"C'mon, Buffy, spill! What'd you guys do?"

The blonde swallowed; her mouth was suddenly very dry. Probably an effect of the hangover. 

"Not much," she croaked.

Dawn rolled her eyes and pounced onto the bed, gazing languidly down at her sister.

"I'm not a little kid. I know about this stuff. So where'd you go?"

It was Buffy's turn to roll her eyes. There was no escaping the prying little sister.

"We went to a restaurant. It was nice."

"_Nice_?" Dawn echoed. "Nice as in you made out afterwards or nice as in you jumped his bones in a—"

"_Dawn_!" Buffy felt the blood rush to her face. 

__

Oh God, even my baby sister thinks I'm a slut.

"What? Like I said, I _do_ know about these things. I mean, I've been hanging around An—around…around…grown-up people for a long time," the teen ended hesitantly.

"It's alright," Buffy said softly, a rebuke dying on her lips as her heart went out to her sister. "Anya wouldn't have wanted you to never mention her again. Dawnie, the process of healing includes accepting, and most importantly, moving on."

Dawn wanted to make a retort, point out just how hypocritical her sister was being. But remembering Buffy's stricken expression from before, the teenager softened. Buffy had always had a hard time moving on. She still remembered (or in one case, thought she did) how her sister had been after Angel and Riley left. 

And the subject had always been taboo till Buffy had found herself a new boyfriend.

__

Is she the only one allowed to grieve? Dawn thought with a sudden flare of anger. _Will she ever even tell us what happened? Did they break up…again? Did he leave town? Or…or…_

The alternative was simply too horrible to think about. 

__

But don't we deserve to know? Don't I _deserve to know?_

He was my friend.

Not trusting herself to refrain from making a hurtful comment, Dawn gave another plastic, glossy smile and quickly evacuated the room.

***

She strolled down the noonday street, just walking around, with no clear destination in mind. Just thinking, or to be more accurate, trying to avoid thinking. It was a nice day out, bright and warm, with not a puffy cloud in sight. 

People walking around her unconsciously kept a wide berth, almost seeming to sense the gloom that rolled out of her small frame. The melancholia that seemed to cast shadows of darkness on this lovely day like a disfiguring disease. Maybe they instinctively knew to keep away lest the depression be contagious.

"So, Buff, how was your date?"

The blonde Slayer jumped half her height up into the air before she registered the familiar voice.

__

Not a threat.

She forced her heart rate to slow back down. 

"Jeez, Xander, when did you get so good at sneaking up on people?"

He grinned. "Those super-Slayer senses sure aren't working like they used to, huh?"

"Guess not," Buffy replied, managing a small smile. He was trying; she had to give him points for that. "Must be getting old," she added lightly.

Xander nodded, moved over to walk beside her. "Well, how was the date?"

She dropped all semblance of cheerfulness. "Not exactly great. Xander, if you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about it."

He hesitated for the briefest of moments, then laid a large, warm hand on her shoulder.

"Buffy, please. This is important. We—I—saw Mark this morning. He's kind of…upset. I don't know what you're going through right now, but Mark's a nice guy. He doesn't deserve to be treated like…to be, well…used."

The Slayer stopped walking and turned cold eyes on her friend. "The others." She said it like the words were something vile in her mouth. "They sent you, didn't they?"

Xander fidgeted. "Well…yeah. They did. But that's not the point, Buff. There's something on your mind. Now, I don't know what happened last night, but—"

"I slept with him."

The confession was so quiet it was almost a whisper. Buffy stared at the paved ground, unwilling to meet her friend's eye.

"What?! Uh, Buff, can you repeat that? 'Cause I thought you said—"

She raised her head, stared defiantly up into his face. "When did my personal life become everyone's business? I slept with him, okay? Is there something wrong with that?"

For a moment, Xander just stared at the small woman standing in front of him. She'd been one of his best friends, ever since their sophomore year of high school. He knew her, knew what type of person she was. And this situation just screamed, "NOT Buffy."

And even as she turned on her heel and angrily strode away, he knew she'd never admit why she was acting this way. But he knew. That was his gift, wasn't it?

__

"You're the one who sees everything, aren't you?" 

Well, the guy had been right.

The Slayer was missing something. As much as he hated to admit it, Buffy wasn't over _him_ yet. And it would be a long time before she would be.

If_ she ever does get over Soul-boy Jr. Emphasis on the "if." One too many heartbreaks, and the Buffster may be down for good._

Xander sighed and turned to head back to the motel. True, he'd never much liked Captain Peroxide. But if that was what made Buffy happy and complete, well…

He should probably talk to Willow.

***

Buffy didn't mix with alcohol. They were very non-mix-y things, kind of like oil and water.

But here she was anyway, sipping away at her second Long Island Iced Tea. Just how much alcohol was in there, anyway? And to think, the tall glass tasted just like iced tea. The non-alcoholic kind.

She tried to remember, but the alcohol had dulled her memory. She could remember when he'd explained it to her, that night after she'd gotten drunk and watched a rather strange version of a familiar card game. Right after she'd found and pursued the Geek Trio's van to no effect.

But she couldn't remember exactly what he'd said, just that it was about the contents of those popular mixed drinks that she should probably stay away from. 

And that was what scared her deep down inside, that she couldn't recall his words verbatim. Maybe it was just because she'd never really paid much attention to his conversation then. 

__

Or maybe I'm already forgetting.

No, no, she wouldn't. 

She _couldn't_.

Buffy downed the rest of her drink and ordered another tall glass.

***

"All right girls, that's enough for tonight. Go get a good night's sleep, 'cause the Watcher wants more training tomorrow."

The oldest brunette Slayer in the group stepped away from the entourage amidst a collection of groans. She left the newly called Slayers to go to their respective rooms to retire. But before she could settle down for the night, there was someone she needed to see.

She rapped on the door with her knuckles.

"Who's there?"

She smiled despite herself and pushed the door open, stepping in. 

He was getting ready for bed, with his shirt unbuttoned and no shoes or socks. She _was_ going to talk to him, really, but…

"Robin, you can invite me in. I don't bite…well, unless you want me to."

He gave her a smile and rose from his seat on the corner of the bed. 

"I'd like to see you try."

***

"What did you want to talk to me about?" he whispered in the dark.

Faith was jerked out of her half-sleep by his words. She'd forgotten! To think, she'd taken one look at him and forgot all about B…

"B's missing. Didn't come back for dinner."

He turned over and flicked on the bedside lamp. Concern evident on his smooth features.

"You don't suppose she's in trouble?"

She smiled wryly. "No, B can take care of herself. She's probably out jumping another guy right now."

"I see," he said, his expression stating otherwise. "And is that a good thing?"

"No!" she exclaimed, wrapping the sheets around her body and rolling over to face him. "That's why I wanted to talk to you, 'Mr. Perceptive.' B's not okay. She's been out of it since we left good old Sunnyhell."

Robin's face suddenly became curiously blank. He stared off into space.

"Buffy's a fighter, like you. She'll get through it." 

Faith slowly shook her head. "I dunno. Maybe. Yeah, you're probably right. But it's just…she's been messed up for so long, y'know? B should've snapped out of her funk by now." The brunette Slayer hesitated, put her hand on his shoulder and made him look at her. "I don't expect you might know what's eating her?"

Robin gazed at Faith. "No, I don't," he said with a perfectly straight face.

TBC


	4. Drinks

A/N: Thanks again for the reviews. I love constructive criticism, but there are a few things I need to point out. If anyone thinks Giles is a complete do-gooder, check out "The Gift" (S5) and the 2nd half of S7 (esp. "Lies My Parents Told Me"), or even "The Dark Age" (S2). Same goes for any characters that might seem a little "harsh." I'm sure I could name a few episodes for reference.

And people, this is fanfiction! Don't take it so seriously. : ) I'll try to update ASAP.

That dream again.

She was in the school basement with him. Just the two of them, all alone.

The walls rumbled, shook. And there she was, trying to make him understand.

But the words wouldn't come out. A part of her knew that she'd done this before, that she'd done it every single night, again and again, till the wee hours of morning, when she finally fell into a dreamless slumber. 

And she also knew that in reality, she had explained. She had told him in the very end. So why could she never speak in these dreams?

Of course, the fact that he hadn't believed her didn't help. One of the few times she'd told the truth and he hadn't even believed her.

But back to the dream. The ceiling was falling in. She could see pieces of the bright blue sky. She had to hurry; time was running out. She opened her mouth…but no sound escaped. She couldn't speak.

Damn her, speak_!_

But all she could do was look at those pained blue eyes, trying to mask disappointment, never once judging her. Telling her to go. But all the while pleading silently for her words, for some final admission.

And every night, like a coward, she'd run. She'd run like she always did. Run like she had when it had mattered, when it had counted.

Time to break the cycle. Even though she couldn't tell him, even though her tongue wouldn't work, she stayed. She held his hand and watched both of them burst into flame. So familiar, yes.

And then the world tumbled down around them.

***

She awoke with a start, her heart pounding, the blood rushing in her arteries and veins. She felt almost feverish, like there had really been flames…again…despite the fact that she was on something cold and hard.

The dream had been different, different from the other dreams, different from the reality. And it had left her with a strange sense of peace.

__

Peace? From burning to a crisp?

Slowly, very slowly, Buffy realized she was not in her own bed at home. No…after all, her warm, safe bed had gone done with her house, with Sunnydale. But she wasn't at the motel either, in the room she shared with Dawn.

She was in a dark establishment, lying curled up and shivering under a small round table. Squinting, she could see the silhouettes of other such tables around the room, with the shadowy shapes of stools on top of them. And she could see the glowing red exit signs.

She was in a bar. A _closed_ bar. And was that pale morning light filtering through the boarded-up windows?

With that realization, Buffy became aware of a massive hangover. Her back hurt. Her head hurt. Every muscle in her body was cramped and hurting. 

__

And cold. Don't forget cold.

She smiled a bitter little smile to herself. Ah, but she'd gotten drunk last night, hadn't she? Probably passed out in this grimy little establishment. And the barkeeper had not even noticed her as he closed up shop.

Funny, really. And to think, this was the first time she'd ever passed out drunk. Although not the first time that she'd awoken with a hangover and a little too many bitter musings.

She suddenly wished that she was drunk again. With a mild jolt of surprise, she realized that there was nothing she wouldn't give to be drunk and setting captive kittens free. 

Or maybe, if she could do it over again, even join the game. Dawnie or Willow and Tara would probably have wanted a new cat.

__

"You play for kittens?!"

"So, who's gonna advance me a tiny tabby, get me started? Come on, someone's gotta stake me."

"I'll do it! What, you thought I was just gonna let that lie there?"

She smiled, despite herself. So maybe she was still a _little_ drunk. That had been a lot of alcohol she'd had last night. Something like five shots per drink.

But she was not drunk _enough_, oh no. She'd once asked why he would drink so much when the vamp ho had dumped him. He'd said that it dulled the pain and made him forget. For a while.

Buffy stumbled to her feet and felt her way to the locked-up bar. Smashing through the locks with Slayer strength, she felt around in the darkness and closed her small hand around the neck of a cold glass bottle. The first of many.

__

Success.

She smiled sardonically and proposed a silent toast in the empty pub.

***

"Come in," he called. He rubbed his eyes, groping for the spectacles on the table by the bed. Donning the pair of glasses, the man blinked several times. 

"Hey."

"Dawn," he replied. "What are you doing here, so early in the morning?"

The teen fidgeted. "Buffy didn't come back last night," she blurted out in a rush.

"Dear Lord. Why didn't you tell me sooner? You don't suppose some—"

"Giles, Buffy's an adult. She doesn't have a curfew. I was going to tell you, but I thought she'd just get back really late like she did night before last, only I fell asleep and when I woke up she still wasn't back. Maybe she went out again or something, or got lost, I don't know. Should we go look for her?"

He blinked. "Could you repeat that?"

Dawn sighed and took a deep breath.

***

"Xander, I'm not saying this again."

"Please, Will, we gotta do something," the dark-haired man pleaded.

She sat on the side of the bed, her head resting on her hands. "Xander, I already explained last night. It's impossible, not to mention morally wrong. Don't you remember what happened with Buffy two years ago when we tried it?"

How could he not? The tune was burned into his memory. He could almost still hear her lyrics ringing in his head…

__

There was no pain

  
No fear, no doubt

Till they pulled me out—

"Yeah, but that was a different situation," he argued, trying to drown out the blonde Slayer's echo of a voice. Too late to think about it anymore. The deed had been done.

__

And from there, everything had gone downhill.

"Will, that was different. Buffy was in Heaven."

The green eyes she turned on him were less than friendly.

"Xander." A thinly veiled warning.

"Hello people, Evil Dead, remember? As in evil." Yet the words lacked conviction even as they left his mouth.

The redheaded witch gave him a small, tired smile. "Not quite."

He sighed, dropping to join her on the side of the bed.

"I know that, Will. It's just…we gotta do something. For Buffy."

She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I know, Xander. I know."

"She deserves to be happy."

The two friends, sworn buddies since play-group, sat side by side on the bed, lost in thought.

***

For the second time that day, she awoke, cold and uncomfortable, lying on a very hard surface. For a moment she thought she was lying on a slab of stone in a very different place, but that theory was discounted when she blindly reached out and felt nothing.

The bright sun shining behind her closed lids was also a giveaway. As was the very loud voice speaking to her and the very large and very warm hand that was shaking her awake.

"What?" she groaned, the hangover taking affect as soon as she squinted at her surroundings. She was in the bar. The same bar she'd passed out in last night. The same bar from which she had "borrowed" several bottles of whiskey.

__

Hmm, whiskey. It burned just like the first time I had it.

"Hey, you alright?"

She nodded, snapping out of it and focusing finally on the burly man in front of her. The bartender.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She scrambled to her feet, instantly regretting the quick movement. She fought down the wave of nausea as it threatened to overwhelm her stomach and spew the stolen liquor all over the grimy floor.

The concern on the bartender's sweaty face was now 100% annoyance. 

"Who are you and what are you doing here?"

Buffy cringed. Time to put on an extra-bright smile. 

"Well, you see…last night…I kinda got drunk…"

***

"Is there nothing we can do?" he asked, desperate now. He had begun pacing half an hour ago, and Willow was rather concerned that a groove would soon be worn through the dirty carpet. And Kennedy should have been back half an hour ago. Training didn't take _that_ long.

She shook her head. 

Xander suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. "Anya!"

Willow's head snapped up. "What? Where?" She looked around the small, empty room. No sign of her best friend's ex. She bit her lip, not daring to face him. "Xander, she's not here."

He sighed, once again sitting down by her side. "I know that, Will. That's not what I meant. But remember the whole vengeance demon deal? Buffy's had it pretty rough. So what if she was to…say, summon a vengeance demon or something?"

Willow shook her head again. "Xander, you know we can't do that. Remember Skanky Undead Me from the wish-verse that Cordy made? There's no telling what could happen."

The man nodded. "Yeah, yeah, of course. You're right. I don't know what I was thinking."

They sat there in silence for a while.

"Where's Kennedy? She should have—"

"Will, do you still have that thingie D'Hoffryn gave you? His talisman?" Xander said abruptly, not even noticing that he had just interrupted the redheaded witch.

"What? I mean, yes, I think so." A little surprised, she opened a drawer and took out a small pouch. Placing it on the bed, she removed plastic packets of dried plants of some sort, a handful of multi-colored crystals, and finally, the medallion she was looking for.

"That little thing's it? How's it supposed to work? I mean, do you have to say some sort of hocus-pocus or what?"

She shrugged. "Sometimes. Like, if you don't really have a reason for calling up vengeance, you kinda need an incantation to contact D'Hoffryn. But if you do and the talisman senses it, it'll open the portal upon physical contact. Kinda cool, really…and why are you asking this?"

He stared at the small ornament, then shrugged, dismissing it with a casual wave of his hand. 

"Just curious. It doesn't seem like much."

The redheaded witch nodded, beginning to slide the other things back into the pouch. Healing crystal, healing crystal, sage…

The door opened.

"Hey, Willow, I'm back! Xander." The recently-called Slayer nodded to him in greeting.

He smiled and glanced quickly back at Willow. "I'll leave you two alone now," he said with a wink of his one good eye.

Xander made a quick exit.

Willow didn't notice that she had never put the talisman back. Of course, that wasn't entirely her fault; the other girl in the room might have served as a slight distraction.

All thoughts of Xander's uncharacteristic behavior left her mind.

***

She cracked open the door.

"Buffy! Where were you?" 

She smiled sheepishly, shrugging a little. Closing the door gingerly, she walked stiffly to the bed, trying to ignore the multitude of eyes on her. She'd wanted to sneak in, hope Dawn was out, and catch a few zzz's. 

That apparently wasn't exactly what was going to happen. They were here, probably getting ready to look for her.

"Hello? Earth to Buffy!"

Trying to repress a sigh along with a few choice expletives, Buffy turned around slowly, hoping the combined effects of hangovers and sleeping funny wouldn't be all that noticeable to her friends.

"Hi guys. Um, I uh…didn't get much sleep last night. So…could you…did you have breakfast yet?"

The redheaded witch frowned. 

__

Xander did have a point.

Then she shook her head, unnoticed.

__

That still doesn't make it right. That's not an excuse. 

The Watcher began to clean his glasses in that oh-so-predictable way. And Faith, Faith had a tiny little smile playing at the corner of her lips. A sad and ironic little smile.

She could smell the hard liquor.

"Buffy, we just wanted to…to make sure you were all right," Giles said politely. "You didn't come back last night."

She forced another smile. "Well, I stayed out. And I'm just peachy."

Dawn also frowned, staring quizzically at her sister. Was that whiskey she was smelling, all over Buffy's clothes, all over Buffy? 

"Uh, of course. Shall we go, then?" Giles shot looks at Willow, Faith, Xander, and Dawn. "Best let Buffy catch her rest."

Unspoken questions filled the air. But Willow and Faith followed the Watcher out with only curious backward glances. There would be time for questions later.

Dawn's frown only deepened. It was definitely whiskey. She'd remember that poignant scent anywhere. And she also knew quite well that Buffy and alcohol were very non-mix-y things.

And why _whiskey_, of all things? Wasn't beer bad enough?

__

Hmm. Sinking deeper into the river of Denial, are we now?

Shaking her head slightly, the teen took her own exit. Tonight, after her sister received her obligatory couple hours of sleep, Dawn would give her hell. But not now.

Buffy let out a deep sigh, before dropping face-first onto the somewhat lumpy bed. 

__

Ah, a soft comforter. That was always nice. Way_ preferable to sleeping on cold, hard surfaces. See? Another perk of normalcy._

It took her several minutes to realize that not everyone had left. She turned her head toward the wall.

"Go 'way," she mumbled, flopping an arm for emphasis. Stupid Potential…uh, Slayer. She'd probably overlooked one of them…again. Why did they always have to hang around, getting in everyone's way? And couldn't the girl see she needed rest?

"Buff." 

It wasn't one of the new Slayers. The invectives died on her lips.

Grudgingly, she rolled over and stared blearily up at one of her best friends. She owed him at least some semblance of civility.

"_Please_ go away, Xander."

He smiled the goofy Xander-smile she could always count on. But even the reliable Xander-smile was different. He looked at least ten years older than just a year ago.

Maybe the eye-patch had something to do with it.

"Buff, we really need to talk."

She rolled back to face the wall.

He sighed. "I can't say that I know exactly what you're going through, Buff. 'Cause everyone's different. But I can sympathize, maybe a little more than the rest of them."

She heard the sound of something small, hard, and metallic being set down on the bedside table.

"I know you don't really want to talk. I don't blame you. So go ahead and stew, Buff, or actually _do_ something about it."

She heard his footsteps move away. And then the gentle click of the door.

She was truly alone.

***

She couldn't sleep.

It had been what, an hour? Five? The cheap clock was flashing red numerals at her, waiting to be reset. The drapes were shut, so she couldn't tell where the sun was in its path across the sky. Not that it mattered.

Not that any of it mattered.

Her hangover had passed, leaving her with a deeper sense of depression than she had started out with. 

__

I wonder if there's anything alcoholic in the mini-fridge?

Getting the energy to roll up into a sitting position, Buffy was vaguely aware that she had to look terrible. No shower, no makeup, no sleep. Rumpled clothes, hair…

She plodded wearily to the small, grimy window and pulled open the drapes. A bit too hard, for the cloth ripped from the curtain rod.

__

Oops. 

The light made her look away. So bright to her eyes. Burning in its intensity.

She happened to glance back in the direction of the bed, at something very sparkly on the small table. It was round and gave off a blue-green glow as the rays of sunlight struck it at an angle. 

__

What's that?

Now that her curiosity was piqued, the Slayer warily made her way back to the small bedside table. She picked up the medallion, which was surprisingly heavy for its size.

__

Some kind of trinket. An amulet?

She dropped it like it was on fire. Amulets were bad. Very, very bad things. As a wave of anger crested within her, the Slayer realized that the…thing…was glowing. 

__

Amulets are bad. Glowing amulets are worse.

Buffy's mouth dropped open as a beam of blue light shot out from the side, revealing…none other than Anya's former boss.

"You!"

He seemed a little lost, looking around the small room. Then D'Hoffryn's gaze finally settled on the petite blonde Slayer. And he broke into a smile.

"How are you…Buffy, was it? If you don't mind me saying, you've got a few more bags under your eyes than the last time we met. You know, Buffy, you should take better care of your complexion. Wouldn't want to age prematurely, such a pretty young girl as you."

TBC


	5. A Premature Burial

She was alone again, in the motel room. Alone, and not even _trying_ to fall asleep. Sleep was out of the question.

She was stewing, going over the demon's words for the umpteenth time. 

__

"Your choice, Buffy. We could hear your wail through dimensional barriers. You've willingly activated the link between Arash Ma'har and your own pitiful world, Slayer, and I came."

"Uh, that's great. Now go away, please, before Mr. Pointy accidentally finds his way into and through your chest."

He'd laughed. "I am no vampire, foolish girl."

"You'd be surprised how many things that'll kill."

He'd stopped laughing. "And I'd teleport before you'd have the chance to try. So, enough of the tomfoolery, already. Let's talk business."

"Business? What business? I don't deal with demons other than with the pointy side of my stake or sword."

He'd laughed again, ignoring her comments. "Silly, silly child. I'm a Justice Demon. I right wrongs. Grant wishes, in a sense. Now, is there something you'd like to ask me?"

She growled and walked to the door, determined to find Xander and throttle him for daring to put that talisman in her room. Her hand on the knob, Buffy paused. 

What would be the harm in such an experiment? The world was safe. The Hellmouth in Cleveland had its guardians. It could wait.

__

No, not_ an experiment! This stuff is serious. You, of all people, should know._

Because that was in essence his offer, right? D'Hoffryn offered to make her deepest desire come true. He offered to grant a wish from the bottom of her heart. And she knew what that was.

__

But don't you remember what it had been like? Forced back into the flesh, into this cruel world, this life…

She wouldn't wish that experience on her worst enemy, much less…

No, he deserved to rest. Rationally, she knew that. He'd suffered enough and more than deserved his final reward. And this was no way to spend her life, pining and denying and getting drunk…

__

"I think I'm sobering up. It's horrible." Well, she had to agree. Horrible to be sober. But now wasn't the time to be drunk. After she'd thought everything through, sure…

He'd wanted her to move on. He'd said as much. He'd wanted her to find happiness in this bright, shiny world. He'd wanted her to be happy.

But try as hard as she could, Buffy hadn't been able to find that happiness. She hadn't been able to move on. She was miserable, and only became more miserable as time passed.

__

What was that someone had once said? About her first boyfriend, about how she got herself in bad relationships because she enjoyed misery? Who'd said that?

Oh yeah. The fourth guy she slept with.

Well, had he been right? Was she really that masochistic?

And don't forget selfish.

She was actually thinking about indulging herself once again and using him the way she'd sworn again and again never to.

__

I'm so damned conceited. So f—ing selfish. A conceited, selfish, bitchy slut.

Buffy smiled. If he was here, he'd smack her upside the head and tell her to snap out of it. No, that had been the old him. The old him that she had traded insults and bantered with, that she had loved to dance with. Ah yes, their dance. 

__

Before the soul…

She didn't like the soul, to tell the truth. Sure, she'd made it plain that she could never get involved with a soulless _monster_, but even she hadn't known what she'd wanted then. Now she did…right?

She'd had feelings before the soul restoration. Had feelings and suppressed them, because of course little Miss Goody Two-Shoes couldn't fall in love with a _demon_. Because that would be _wrong_ and all her little friends would have condemned her. Never mind the fact that the friend that would have been the most vocal had been dating an ex-demon at the time. But of_ course_ that was different. 

She blamed the soul, really. She wished that she could get her hands on that demon down in Africa and wring his neck for giving it back to him. Never mind that she'd never have admitted the feelings she had without it. Never mind the fact that she would probably have staked him if he'd dared to show up without it. Or if she didn't then definitely one of the others. Probably Dawn.

But never mind all that. She didn't like the soul, period. After all, it was what had killed him, right? That damned soul, that horrible, horrible soul…

It was dusk. Dawn was still out, listening to her sister's requests for once. 

And all alone in the dark, mentally spent from arguing with herself, the Slayer wept.

***

Buffy awoke, her face all tight and funny-feeling because she hadn't bothered to wipe away the tears before she'd cried herself to sleep.

That didn't matter now. Nothing did. Her mind was made up.

God help her, her mind was made up. 

__

Always the selfish one.

Buffy clutched the small trinket. Talisman, whatever. She squeezed her eyes tight and called for D'Hoffryn.

A moment and a flash of light later, the ancient demon stood gazing at her with a disturbing intelligence in his shiny black eyes.

"I've decided."

She'd expected the demon to ask her exactly what it was she'd decided. But the next thing the Slayer knew, she staring at the lid of a box. A very tight and cramped box. And she was staring at the cover from the wrong side.

Was it just her, or was it getting kinda hard to breathe?

Slowly, very slowly, Buffy realized where she was.

And she screamed.

***

Oh, God. She was here again. The place that only occasionally plagued her nightmares in the past year, mainly because of the other, more horrible, things she dreamed about.

But it was still as terrifying as ever. More so than usual, because this wasn't a dream. This was real.

All thoughts of wishes and vengeance demons went out of her head as the Slayer pounded against the lid of her coffin. 

Her screams were lessening in frequency. Air was running out. Buffy hit the lid over and over again, but the lack of oxygen was making her limbs stiff. The pounding was becoming weaker and weaker, and the frequency was becoming slower and slower.

__

No, not like this! Not again.

With that, the Slayer rammed her fist up and up, as hard as she could. 

A shower of dirt spilled all over her face.

__

Yes!

She was getting somewhere. Taking a deep breath, she began to pull the shattered coffin boards apart and push her way through the soft, damp earth.

***

She stood there, just like that night so long ago, clad only in a thin black dress and heels too high to walk comfortably in. She'd never liked those shoes. They pinched her feet. But it wasn't like they could bury her in her favorite slaying boots, leather pants, and a halter top. Preferably with a coat, too. It was kinda cold. But it wasn't like they could've done that.

__

Well, they should've. Then I wouldn't be limping around and freezing to death…again.

The question seeped through her mind again. Finding herself in that coffin again, she'd forgotten for a moment in the ensuing panic to wonder exactly why she was here. Why was she suddenly in Sunnydale? In the cemetery? 

In a grave?

Why would D'Hoffryn send her here? He'd tricked her, that was it! He said that he dealt out justice and granted wishes. Well, was it justice for her to relive the worst year of her life?

__

Probably.

The moisture welled up in her eyes before she could help it. Buffy had just realized the implications of the situation. She'd thought that he'd be back. She'd thought that was what D'Hoffryn was going to do. No matter. She had to get out of here, one way or another. She had to find that demon and…

Her hands felt wet. But she hadn't yet wiped away the tears threatening to fall. Back to her surroundings.

The cemetery was blurry. Hell, everything was blurry, and not just because of her tears. The Slayer knew the direction of the gates and headed that way, treading carefully on the bumpy, uneven ground in her stilettos. But there was something wrong. More wrong than usual, that is. What were all those swathes of red everywhere, dancing and licking and…

__

The flames. God, how could I have forgotten them? All those flashes of red, the sirens…no wonder I thought I'd ended up in hell.

Her vision was slowly, very slowly, beginning to clear. And so was her hearing, to Buffy's chagrin. The sirens became louder. The mayhem became more defined. And…were those the rumbles of…

The motorcycle gang. In the midst of their rampaging and looting, no doubt. And of course, she, the Slayer, was supposed to be stopping them. With a grimace, Buffy headed toward the source of the loud, loud engines.

She stopped. There they were, the motorcycle demons, surrounded by what seemed to be a fiery inferno. They were circling…what were they circling? What was the dazed figure in their midst?

__

The Buffybot. It's the Buffybot. Get a grip, you've seen this before.

But try as she did, the Slayer couldn't force down the lingering thought that it was her being tied to the motorcycles, her being torn apart.

__

Okay, time out for a sec. Am I really that_ masochistic? Why the hell would I want to re-witness this fun, fun event? _

This is just D'Hoffryn's little joke. It'd better be. Does he really hate me that much? I haven't even tried to kill him that_ many times._

She turned away from the scene in disgust as the bikes tore off in different directions…and Buffybot's limbs followed. The Slayer didn't see the robot's eyes widen at the last moment and the sudden bright smile that flashed across its face as it stared at her.

__

At least I didn't scream this time.

Buffy took a deep breath and turned around, heading away, forcing herself not to look back. If she did, Buffy knew there was no way she could hold the scream that would erupt from seeing her own torso bounce on the hard pavement.

__

I need to get to the house. Possibly change my clothes. Then find Willow, get her to summon that double-crossing demon. And after I get back to where I'm supposed to be, I'll gut him and hang his innards on a clothesline…

Who am I kidding? I don't want to do any of that. I just want to go back to sleep. One way or another.

But that was no way to think. She'd promised to live in this world. Bu then again, this wasn't exactly her world anymore…

No matter. She was the Slayer…_a_ Slayer, at least…, not someone who easily gave up. She would find D'Hoffryn and make him pay. 

The chilly October breeze blew right through her thin black crêpe dress. Her brittle heels clicked on the hard pavement with no conscious destination in mind. She needed to organize her thoughts.

__

Okay, I need to think. Last time, last time. What did I do last time?

Well, for one thing, I got the attention of those demons on the hogs. Eventually met my so-called friends in an alley in time to save their asses from the demons that tailed me. No such problem this time.

Where did I go after that? What did I do?

The Slayer was terrified when she realized she didn't remember. It was like something was preventing her from remembering. A mental block, hiding something she never wanted to remember again.

Vaguely, as she tried to dig up buried memories, Buffy realized that her hands were raw and bloody, grasping steel and moving in front of her body. Up and up, right, left, right, left, right…

Her painfully tight shoes with her feet strapped in them like prisoners tied to racks were also moving. Up and up, left, right, left, right, left…

__

Where am I going? What am I doing?

The last rung of some sort of ladder. Buffy awoke from her daze and looked around, unable to repress a sudden smile.

The tower. Why, of course. The long climb up to the narrow platform.

Leading to salvation. Or to rest, at least. Some sort of respite from life. Probably a one-way ticket to hell, but really, how bad could it be? At least she'd be free of this…life.

Without realizing it, the Slayer stood at the edge. The very edge of the creaking, shaking platform. She closed her eyes, imagined all those she loved, waiting for her. She'd tried to keep her promises, but she was just so tired. And it would be so easy…

__

One step, just one small step.

And then I'll be free.

"Buffy?"

She frowned and opened her eyes. The voice came from behind. If Buffy didn't know better, she would've sworn that it belong to—

But no, of course not. There was no cold malice, no spite, in that voice. No teenage defiance or rebelliousness. It couldn't possibly belong to her sister.

"Buffy."

The Slayer turned around.

Dawn, standing at the edge of the stairs, staring at her with a mix of shock and joy. Yes, her sister. Her sweet kid sis, before time and experience had turned her cold from the inside out. Even though she had suffered so much, the teen still had not yet been forced to grow up too quickly.

Buffy stared apprehensively at her. 

"Buffy…how...?"

The Slayer frowned at her in confusion. Dawn was sincere. Nothing but amazement in her voice. Never thinking of asking her what she was doing here, where she had been. How it was possible that the sister she had buried more than four months ago had just appeared at the scene of death.

"Is it you? I mean really?" The girl smiled tentatively and took a step forward. "What are you do—"

The tower creaked and shuddered. Dawn grabbed the pole beside her for support and tried not to look down. 

__

What does it matter? It'll be worse if I don't end it. When the First rises because I won't stay dead.

Buffy turned toward the edge once more.

"No!"

The Slayer looked down at the ground below. So far, so empty. Such a long drop.

"Don't!"

She turned back to Dawn. 

"Don't jump, Buffy! Don't move! Just walk to me. Please," she begged.

__

Dawnie, I should. I'm so tired. And besides, it'll be better this way. You'll see—well, no you won't, not if I do it right.

The Slayer turned back to the edge and stared down once more. She could almost see herself lying there, peaceful, at rest. If she was lucky, maybe she'll even end up with him…

"Please?"

The tower wobbled, shook. 

"I'm your sister. Dawn. We were up here...together, and then...you went away. And you don't wanna do that again. I don't know how you're back, but you are, and please, just stay still."

__

You don't have to explain it to me again, Dawnie. I'm not disoriented from just being torn out of Heaven. 

Not this time.

The tower shook again, harder than before. The teen shrieked. 

"Or-or move. But-but towards me. Because the tower was built by crazy people and I don't think it's holding up very well."

Buffy didn't answer. 

"Talk to me. Say something!"

The tower creaked again, veritably swayed in the breeze.

"We have to get off this tower!"

__

Yeah, she should. I promised Mom that I'd take care of Dawn.

"Buffy, please, listen to me. You told me I had to be strong...and I've tried. But it's been so hard without you."

__

Welcome to the club, Dawnie.

"I'm sorry. I promise I'll do better. I will! If you're with me. Stay with me...please. I need you to live. Live! For—"

The tower wobbled, hard. Dawn screamed and crouched down. Pieces of the tower began to crumble and fall off. 

Despite an almost overpowering desire to step off the structure, Buffy turned around. She knew what Dawn was feeling because she'd felt it herself. She was feeling it right now. 

"Buffy!"

"Dawn," she whispered. 

__

Don't worry, Mom. I'll keep my promise, for now. I'll keep Dawn safe.

  
"Buffy!"

  
"Dawn!"

She ran across the platform to her baby sister and pulled her up and into the body of the tower. Together they ran around one bend, then the Slayer paused and looked around. 

There was a pulley with a rope going through it, hanging oh-so-conveniently. 

__

Just like last time.

Buffy held onto Dawn tightly and leapt off the tower, snatching the rope in midair. They hung there for a moment, swinging gently. Then the rope slid through the pulley and they plummeted downward. 

Dawn screamed.

The Slayer glanced up at the rope. It was moving through the rusted pulley so quickly that smoke was rising into the chilly air. And was that a bolt coming loose?

She knew what was next. So the Slayer braced herself as the rope caught and the two sisters became suspended in midair. They both stared at the ground, still a very long way off. 

Buffy was prepared as the bolt holding the pulley snapped in two. Tucking her body and positioning the teen so that they would land safely, they dropped onto a pile of cardboard conveniently placed in a soft and rather mushy mound.

Without wasting time to take a breath, the Slayer grabbed her sister and rolled away to a position several yards away, ignoring the teen's baffled looks and questions.

Two seconds later, the platform landed with a thud on the very ground where they had rested. And then the entire tower crumbled and fell to the earth in a cloud of dust.

__

Good. That thing should've been demolished ages ago.

"Buffy?"

The tentative voice snapped her from her thoughts. Buffy glanced at Dawn apprehensively. The teen merely smiled in disbelief. 

"Buffy. You...you...you're really here."

Suddenly enveloped in a hug, the Slayer yielded completely to the tears. They mixed with the other girl's as they trailed wet tracks to the ground.

"You're alive, and you're home. You're home."

***

She buttoned the shirt, ignoring the cries of protest from her still-bloody hands. She'd been through worse; this wasn't anything to bother Dawn over.

__

"Buffy?We can...we can sit down and talk."

She gave a start, not noticing the girl that had just entered the room. 

Dawn's eyes trailed to her half-buttoned blouse, then to her hands.

"Oh! Ow."

The Slayer evaded her sister as the teen reached to touch her hands. Somewhere downstairs a door opened. Buffy used that as a distraction to pull away completely and head out of the room.

"What's that?" she asked. Anything so that her sister wouldn't touch her hands or ask her what had happened and where she had come from.

  
"It's okay. It's okay," Dawn soothed.

__

No, not really. It'll never be okay. But I can't talk about that now. Especially not now_. You don't even know what's going on. What's happened…or is yet to happen, I guess._

"Dawn! Dawn! Are you there?"

Her heart skipped a beat. The Slayer stood frozen in the hallway, staring into nothing.

__

No. It couldn't be.

A voice she'd only heard in her dreams for the past three months.

  
"It-it's just Spike," her sister explained patiently. "I'm here!" The girl started down the stairs.

The Slayer was still frozen in shock. But a slow smile began to spread across her visage.

__

This is it. I guess I did know what I really wanted.

Downstairs, the door slammed. 

__

A fresh beginning.

"Thank God! You scared me half to death...or more to death. You—I could kill you."

The Slayer shook herself out of her reverie and walked slowly down the steps after her baby sister.

"Spike," Dawn said hesitantly. The girl had reached the bottom.

"I mean it. I could rip your head off one-handed and drink from your brain stem."

"Look." She pointed up, up at the Slayer.

That was Buffy's cue. She walked down, still somewhat in a daze. Unable to believe her eyes. Drinking up the image before her. 

"Yeah? I've seen the bloody bot before. Didn't think she'd patch up so—"

Buffy swallowed. She wanted to say something. But like in those damned nightmares, her throat had closed up. And she was drowning again.

Drowning in blue eyes.

TBC


	6. Cigarettes

A/N: Wow, even though I'd seen the spoilers more than a month before the airing of the finale, I was still shocked. It's all just beginning to sink in. BtVS is over. Any re-appearances of the characters we have grown to know and love will be on AtS or future spin-offs/movies.

And knowing JM will appear on AtS next season does _not_ make it better.

"She's kind of, um...she's been through a lot...with the...death. But I think she's okay."

The teen glanced back and forth between the two adults. Who were currently standing like statues, staring at each other, not paying her the slightest heed. Not even blinking.

Dawn cleared her throat.

She watched her sister suddenly blush and continue to button her blouse. She took that opportunity to look at the vampire and clear her throat again.

__

Is it just me, or is he a little too_ interested in her blouse? Especially the part that's being buttoned?_

"Spike? Are _you_ okay?"

He finally broke eye contact with the older and much more gorgeous sister to spare a glance at Dawn.

"I'm...what did you do?"

__

Of course it would be my fault. Whenever something's weird, just go blame Dawn, why don't you?

"Me? Nothing." She tried to keep the defensiveness out of her voice. 

Another pause.

__

Great. Back to the staring. People, I'm in the room here!

"Her hands."

Dawn glanced back at her sister, who was busy looking at the patterned carpet and now had her hands behind her back. Her bloody, mangled hands…

"Um, I was gonna fix 'em. I don't know how they got like that," the teen said hurriedly.

"I do. Clawed her way out of a coffin, that's how. Isn't that right?"

Amazing how they could hold a conversation while one of the participants was staring at the other's older and hotter sister the entire time.

__

Do vampires need to blink?

  
"Yeah. That's...what I had to do," the Slayer whispered, still finding the carpet rather interesting.

  
"Done it myself."

Dawn rolled her eyes. They could at least acknowledge her existence. Maybe look at her once in a while or, God forbid, actually include her in their little conversation. Or at least go get some privacy.

It was like Spike read her thoughts.

"Um...we'll take care of you. Come here."

He guided Buffy into the living room. The Slayer never looked back.

"Get some stuff, uh…Mercurochrome, bandages."

"Okay."

The teen walked away from the living room, toward the first-aid kit stashed in the kitchen of all places. 

Sure, she was worried about her sister. Who wouldn't be? Buffy had just returned from the dead. Clawed her way out of her coffin, apparently. But Dawn could also feel the stirrings of green-eyed jealousy. For the first time in months, all the attention was on Buffy. No one was fretting over her and making sure she went to bed at 11, brushed her teeth, did her homework, et cetera.

It was all about Buffy.

The teen smiled. This she could get used to.

***

She let herself be seated upon the sofa. The sofa where her mother had died. The sofa that Xander had used as a temporary bed the past year—only that hadn't happened yet. Dawn's briefly paralyzed body had not been posed on that same sofa, a remote control stuck in her hand.

Why was she thinking about such random, mundane things anyway? 

Maybe it was because she still couldn't quite grasp the concept of Now. Oh, she'd accepted the reality that she was suddenly in a body two years younger than she last remembered, that this body had just dug itself out of a coffin six feet under. And as for her friends tearing her out of heaven? She'd had two years to get over that.

What she couldn't quite grasp was that _he_ was sitting across from her. Granted, he was sitting on her mother's favorite old coffee table, probably crushing what appeared to be old issues of Dawn's magazines…

Not the point. He could burn down the house for all she cared. Well, in a matter of speaking. Not literally burn it down, 'cause then there'd be no place to live. But she might actually get some money from the insurance company if he could make it look like an accident…

__

What the hell am I thinking? Am I doped? 

Jeez, Buffy, get a hold of yourself. You've just gotten a chance to fix everything. Now's not the time to drift off into insanity.

Slowly, very slowly, she looked up. Right into electric blue eyes. 

She could feel her grasp on reality start to slip.

__

Now's not the time to start drowning again, she chided herself. _You've got a job to do._

The Slayer focused once again. Unfortunately, the source of all that intense focusing was his face, with all its shadows and sharp angles, with the hard yet so very soft lips…and the still-bleached hair, which couldn't possibly be easy on the roots and scalp, the…

The cool skin. Of his hands. Which were holding hers.

She tried not to yelp, or worse yet, collapse onto him and turn into a sobbing mess. She'd been in a kind of suspended state of numbness for the past…ever since the First had been defeated. Just kind of…_dead_…inside. 

__

One touch. That's all that was necessary to send me back over the edge. Does that say something about me?

She cleared her throat. Couldn't just stare at each other all night. But the hand-holding _was_ nice…

She was the Slayer. Meaning that she had to pull herself out of it and start a conversation.

"How long was I gone?"

"Hundred forty-seven days yesterday. Uh...hundred forty-eight today," he replied immediately. Then he smiled slightly, making her truly want to melt. "'Cept today doesn't count, does it?"

She ducked her head again, almost bashfully. Funny how she'd done things with this man before her that she didn't even know the name for, yet still could be so shy about such simple things…

"How long was it for you...where you were?"

__

Let's see. How long has it been since I jumped from that tower? 

How long since I've alienated my friends, slept with soulless vampires? How long since my sister has hated me, since I've been trying to pull together enough money to support said kleptomaniac sibling? How long since my mentor-slash-father figure decided I should start acting like an adult and virtually abandoned me, since my best friend tried to end the world? 

How long since the root of all evil began hunting down innocent girls all around the world with its eye-less minions? How long since I've watched my friends age way too quickly, since a whole slew of inexperienced teenage girls were tossed into my house, my life? 

How long since I've hidden and denied my emotions, since you've gotten your soul for me? How long since I've watched you burn…

This she could answer honestly. "Longer."

Much, much longer.

The younger sister reappeared from the kitchen carrying medical supplies. 

"Got the stuff," she announced in an attempt to sound chipper.

Then the ex-key's eyes trailed to their still-entwined hands. And when he loosened his grip to pull away, the Slayer held tight. For a moment she swore she could feel flames dancing around their interlaced fingers.

__

No more hiding. No more shame.

So what was there, aside from an awkward lack of conversation?

__

My friends! Those biker demons are still loose!

She jerked her hands away from the vampire and scrambled up.

"Oh crap! The others, they're still out there, and…and there's some kind of biker gang? Demon bikers or something. I have to go help them!"

The Slayer was yanked back down to the couch before she could take a step in the direction of the door. The angry retort died on her lips when she looked up. 

Not even the Slayer could stay annoyed with those concerned blue eyes.

"I have to help them," she said a bit more calmly.

He shook his head and stood up. "Not a chance, Slayer. You need to stay put, have a nice little nap. I'll go find your friends. Make sure they're nice and comfy, all that. Don't you worry about it."

Before she could protest, he was already halfway to the exit. 

He paused in the doorway and turned back.

"Nibblet, take care of her hands, will you?"

And then he was gone. 

***

The Slayer lay awake, staring off into the darkness. 

Once again, she couldn't sleep. It wasn't that she was worried about her friends, or even Spike. She knew they could take care of themselves…this time around, at least.

It was the next day she was worried about. The next and the next and the next. For one, there were going to be questions. 

Could she answer honestly? Never. They could never know that she was here because of an innate wish resulting from the pain and suffering of years to come. She was going to fix it all, so that none of it will actually have happened.

But she knew with a certainty deep in her gut that the First would rise again.

__

As long as I'm alive, as long as there are two Slayers…

It was just a matter of time. The important thing was that she knew what to watch out for; she knew how to stop it. And as long as Andrew didn't open the seal, there was no way that all those Ubervamps could come out…unless someone else decided to kill their best friend with a random knife some Mexican weapons dealer carried.

But she could make sure no one ever dug up the seal. She could warn Xander about the commissioning of the High School. She could ask Willow to track down Caleb, put an end to him before…

She beat it once. She could do it again.

Right?

__

This time, no opening of the seal. Okay, got it. No climbing down to freaky subterranean lairs filled with prehistoric vampires, check.

And if Angel came around again, she was going to wallop him upside the head for leaving out a few minor details about that stupid amulet. But she didn't really have to worry about that. After all, she was going to nip the problem in the bud, before it had a chance to…

Buffy smiled. She'd finally figured out why she was sent here. This had been the absolute worst time of her life, even worse than the constant fear and anxiety of the times with Glory and the First. Because of her banishment from heaven, she'd become cold and dark and dead on the inside. She'd alienated her friends and family and wished for eternal rest. That's when she'd started to use him, because he could relate and give her physical pleasure that made her feel whole for the instant it lasted. 

Although she had to admit, those "instants" were pretty long and drawn-out.

Worse, knowing that someone worshipped and loved her no matter what she did also gave her a temporary rise, filling up the void within.

Sad, when everything had been so promising the spring prior. Not the deaths or hell-god-trying-to-kill-little-sister-and-destroy-world episode. What had flourished that spring were the emotional relationships she had developed, with her friends and family. She had really connected with Dawn during that chaotic time. They'd grown closer during their mother's illness and later death, and during the discovery of Dawn's origin. She'd attended parties and hung out with her friends. Even if the parties mostly consisted of research and doughnuts.

It was something the Slayer still missed. Something between them had been irreparably damaged when she came back from the grave. Well, it was all going to be better now.

She'd make sure Willow didn't get herself too deep in magick. She'd try and get Xander and Anya to talk out their tensions so that it didn't all explode on their wedding day. She'd show Giles just how much she needed him, despite her supposed maturity. She'd ask for help when she needed it.

And she'd sort things out with Spike first, before she decided to jump his bones. That spring, after finding out about his little crush, she'd been disgusted. That was undeniable. But she'd also seen him change, seen him try to do what was right, for_ her_. He'd protected her only family despite Glory's ministrations, even if they were brought on by that creepy sex-bot. 

Last spring. That was when she'd started to think that maybe, just _maybe_, there could be something between them. 

She'd trusted him. That trust had disappeared with her resurrection and had only been reinstated with the soul.

__

Stupid soul.

Well, he didn't have to get it this time around. He'd proved that he could be good for the sake of being good, and for her. Despite being soulless, he had a conscience. That's why he went to Africa in the first place, no?

And it was totally not chip-related.

Which reminded her. When Riley dropped by, she'd try to pull a few strings, maybe get the software out before its shelf life expired. 

Hmm. So much to do, so little time.

Buffy cocked her head. There were footsteps coming up the stairs, careful, hesitant footsteps.

Her friends, no doubt. She could hear Willow's quick steps, Tara's soft ones, and Xander's clunky and slightly awkward ones accompanied by Anya's brisk paces.

__

Good. At least they're all back. And safe.

She was suddenly glad that she had locked her door.

***

He glanced up. The light was off, true, but she was still awake. He'd always known when she was awake. 

The vampire took another long drag on his cigarette and let it fall to the ground, next to the other stubs lying there.

There were so many cigarette butts there, under what he had come to consider as _his_ tree. They were mostly old, dating up to a year ago. It was a miracle they had not completely disintegrated into dust.

He patted his pockets and let his hands drop when he discovered that the pathetic little stub had been the last one. He should've picked up another pack tonight. But then again, his plans had been slightly disrupted.

She was back. How the bloody hell was she back? 

He'd place his money on magick. The Scoobies, they had to know something. Why else would Red have looked so uncomfortable when he'd told them the Slayer was back? Why else would she have looked so…_guilty_?

The vampire felt an alien moisture gathering in his eyes, spilling onto his cheeks, and hastily wiped it away. Probably from the cigarette smoke still lingering in the air. 

Of course, he ignored the fact that the undead were not affected by pollutants like smoke.

Whatever the case was, Red definitely knew about it. Probably knew all about the consequences, too. Because that's the thing about magick. There were always consequences.

He closed his eyes and leaned against the trunk. The unnatural moisture was gathering again.

Drat that cigarette smoke.

***

The door closed. The young couple strode out, stepping lightly down the porch steps.

"I think Willow's wrong. I don't think she's particularly normal at all," the young blonde woman declared pragmatically.

"Well, she just got back. Give it time. I bet in a week she'll be our little Bufferin' again."

"Oh yes, 'cause six or seven days, that's all you really need to get over eternal hell experiences."

The young man paused, about to remark, and swung his head left, peering off into the darkness. 

"Who's that? Spike?" He moved cautiously over to the shadows by the tree. "What are you doing out here? I hope you're not going to start your little obsession now that she's around again."

Without warning, the vampire grabbed the boy and slammed him against the tree trunk.

  
"Hey!" the girl yelled, annoyed that her orgasm partner might be damaged and temporarily unable to perform his duties.

"You didn't tell me. You brought her back and you didn't tell me."

The girl frowned. Spike was acting and speaking funny. He sounded like he had a cold. But in over a thousand years of experience, she had thought that vampires didn't catch colds, or any other human illnesses, for that matter.

  
"Well, now you know," the boy managed to say, twisting to get away. It didn't work.

  
"I worked beside you all summer."

"We didn't tell you. It was just...we didn't, okay?" The boy was getting nervous.

"Listen. I've figured it out."

The girl became slightly nervous herself. Spike was beginning to sound downright irrational. And that could mean that Xander wouldn't be able to be of service for many days and nights to come.

The vampire let the boy down, but didn't stop shooting daggers at him. 

"Maybe you haven't, but I have."

Yep. Definitely crazy, this one. Anya imperceptibly slid closer to her significant other. The smart thing would be to nod and smile, then slip off before the vampire went totally bonkers. He was already maniacally jabbing in the direction of the house. A sure sign of impending insanity.

"Willow knew there was a chance that she'd come back wrong. So wrong that you'd have...that she would have to get rid of what came back. And I wouldn't let her. If any part of that was Buffy, I wouldn't let her. And that's why she shut me out."

Anya noted that the longer Spike ranted, the more hysterical he became. She tightened her grip on Xander's arm, praying to the Elder Gods that he'd have sense enough to keep his mouth shut.

"What are you talking about? Willow wouldn't do that."

She groaned.

"Oh. Is that right."

Uh-oh. The sarcastic tone. That was always bad. When she'd been evil, she'd always used that tone before she made her victims rue the day they were born. But she'd never shed tears in front of those she prepared to maim and mangle. Maybe that was a chipped vampire thing.

"Look. You're just covering. Don't tell me you're not happy. Look me in the eyes, and tell me when you saw Buffy alive, that wasn't the happiest moment of your entire existence."

Anya wanted to slap him silly. 

__

Idiot! Xander, even though you're pretty good in bed and have nicely shaped upper arms, you can be awfully dense sometimes. Even I_ can tell that Spike's anything _but_ happy. _

Well, it was nice knowing you. Too bad we didn't get to announce our engagement.

Xander was going to get it now. And maybe he deserved it, just a bit. 

Anya squeezed her eyes shut, expecting to hear...well, she wasn't sure what she expected, but it wasn't the sound of boots stomping away.

"That's the thing about magic. There's always consequences."

She opened her eyes in time to see the dark figure climb onto a motorcycle parked in front of the house, on the street. It roared to life.

"Always!" With that the vehicle and rider disappeared from view.

Anya expelled a breath she hadn't known she was retaining and let herself relax.

"Hmm. What's his deal?" the boy commented.

She kicked him in the shins.

TBC


	7. Dead Drunk

A/N: Everybody's getting along just fine. I'm glad you enjoy the cheerfulness, but remember…this story is posted under *angst*…

However, I do promise a happy ending. 

She smiled as she heard the engine roar to life from the street. She'd known he was down there, probably smoking on her lawn. Leaving cigarette butts all over the grass, butts that she never could bring herself to sweep up. Not that she liked having litter cluttering the yard, of course. More like she'd just never gotten around to cleaning them up, with Glory and her mom and all.

__

Yeah right. If Sunnydale hadn't turned into a crater, those cigarette butts would still be there.

It created a kind of warmth inside when she realized that he was watching over her. A kind of peace.

Buffy's gaze drifted to the far wall, where pictures were tacked onto a bulletin board. A stray beam from a streetlight illuminated the pictures of her friends pasted everywhere, in all aspects of life.

And then they changed. The smiles faded with their faces, the flesh melted away. 

Dead skulls stared back.

The Slayer jumped up, blinking rapidly, her heart pounding in her rib cage. 

The images returned to normal.

It was that thing! That thing that her friends had created to bring her back. The demon with no body, no name.

The one that possessed people and spewed out horrible truths best left untold. The one that couldn't remain in this dimension unless the cause of its creation was destroyed—namely her.

While lost in her musings, she heard a muffled crash from next door. And Willow's muffled voice, speaking her name. For a few moments she couldn't move. She knew that the demon was pretending to be her, terrorizing Willow and Tara. But she couldn't force her body to comply with her mind's wishes to move…

Another shatter of glass. Screams.

That broke the spell. The Slayer dashed to the door.

***

She stared in horror at the open door, at the impossible sight. Dawnie had said she'd been fine…

"What did you do? Do you know what you did? You're like children. Your hands smell of death. Bitches! Filthy little bitches, rattling the bones. Did you cut the throat? Did you pat its head?"

She shuddered, despite Tara's warm body next to hers. 

Willow couldn't stop the flood of hot tears spilling down her cheeks.

__

How could Buffy have known? How could her best friend have known what she'd done?

Why was she doing this? How could she say these things?

As she watched in a horrid fascination, Buffy grabbed a crystal ball off a nearby table and threw it at them. Willow and Tara shrieked as it smashed on the wall above their heads. They felt the hard glass shards rain down upon them.

"The blood dried on your hands, didn't it?" the Slayer screeched, her face livid, her eyes bulging.

__

Oh God! She's a monster!

  
"Oh my god, oh my god," the blonde witch beside her mumbled, over and over again. Like a horrible mantra…

"You were stained. You still are. I know what you did!"

The Slayer stared her in the face the entire time, a coldly calculating look twisting the smooth beauty of her visage. Willow's blood froze in her veins.

Those eyes. They were…_wrong_. Nothing like the Buffy she'd remembered.

__

But then again, you knew there was a chance she'd come back…wrong_. Besides, what kind of spell that required Bambi blood is going to be all warm and fuzzy?_

And then the miracle of miracles. While this ghastly version of a resurrection-gone-wrong shouted its blatant accusations, another Buffy rushed into the room.

Rushed _through_ the first one.

Willow jumped out of bed and turned on the lights. 

There was only one Buffy, standing flustered and a bit confused in the doorway. No eeriness in her demeanor. Just a blend of mild confusion and grim determination.

Tara looked down at the bed. 

"The glass. There's no glass."

As if that was the important thing. That…that _thing_ had looked at her. Spoken to her.

It had known what she'd done.

"Willow," her best friend's voice spoke softly from the doorway, so different from that of the ghastly apparition. It belonged to the girl she had met five years ago at the water fountain.

The redheaded witch sighed silently in relief. So she didn't come back wrong. 

But…then what had just happened?

"Okay, what in the frilly heck is going on?"

The Buffy in the doorway took a tentative step in. "I-I th-think…" she faltered.

"Maybe we dreamed it," Tara suggested.

The Slayer shook her head. "No, no. Not a dream. I think I saw something too. Maybe the same thing you saw, or at least something related. I think maybe it's a side effect. Of the spell."

"Spell?" Tara asked in confusion. "Which spell?" She touched the crystal ball by the table. Solid as ever. "Well...what was it talking about? Did you understand it?" the blonde witch continued.

"Well, I understood the words, but...no." The redheaded witch hated to lie, especially to Tara. But she couldn't know. No one could.

A sudden small laugh from the doorway. Two Wiccans stared at an embarrassed Slayer.

"Uh, sorry…look!"

She pointed to the wall. There was a bulge, some kind of distortion. Moving, moving away, creeping under the wall, out and away. Sliding like an overgrown invisible slug.

"What was that?" Willow demanded.

"There's-there's something in the house," Tara added.

"That's what I was getting to, guys," Buffy continued. "I th-think…I mean, the spell. The one you guys used…'cause that's what happened, right? You used a spell? That's why I'm back?"

An awkward silence filled the room.

"Yeah…yeah. A spell. Us…we-we did a spell, to bring you back," Willow said hesitantly. "So…welcome back."

"Thanks," Buffy said suddenly, looking away. When she turned back, there was a genuine smile on her face. "Thanks, guys." Her smile dropped like a dead fly. "But spells like these…there are prices. Consequences."

Willow shivered. Surely the Slayer didn't intentionally glance at her.

"Prices…prices, like-like maybe side effects. Maybe something…bad…was created when you did the good stuff. 'Cause the universe works towards a balance, good and evil, all that. Which should not be upset," Buffy added, a slight frown marring her features. "Upsetting the balance would be very bad, and will cause lots of not-nice things to happen, like freaky black-robed eye-less guys with knives and possible impending apocalypses…and such. And I'm shutting up now."

Willow stared. Maybe Buffy _did_ come back slightly frizzled and frayed on the edges.

But she did have a point. Balance, that's what magick was all about. All types of magick.

She just never figured _Buffy_ would know something like that. Either way, more research on the spell they had used was needed before a workable hypothesis could be reached. One way or another, the others needed to be warned.

Willow grabbed the phone and began dialing.

"I hope Xander's up."

***

She trudged back into her room, the happiness she had put on for Willow and Tara dropping slightly in intensity. Dropping, dissipating, the way it did the last time she'd been in this…well, in this time.

There was no reason for her to be feeling this way. And she hadn't been, not until she'd realized the connection.

Willow's spell. It really _did_ upset the balance. All it did was raise and tempt evil. The nameless demon tonight was only a part of the big picture. More horribly wrong things would result from that little spell, leading up to the (hopefully) last but not least major crisis: the rise of the First.

Some of the consequences could be prevented, of that the Slayer was certain. But the last one…

Buffy sighed. There was no way she'd be able to fall asleep now. Nope, the chance of that happening was even less than it had been before she'd seen the photos change. 

There was no way she could fall asleep alone in an empty room that—in her mind—had ceased to exist months ago.

__

Bad, bad Buffy! The first night back and you're already thinking about a tumble in the sack.

She cringed. Okay, maybe that wasn't exactly it. After all, it wasn't a tumble she was after. Just…holding each other, through the night. Like before. Those two nights had been the closest she'd ever been with anybody. She'd felt utterly safe, utterly protected. Like nothing was wrong with the world, despite the impending apocalypse. 

__

What I wouldn't give to be there now. In his arms.

She felt a jolt of excitement, of possibility. Why couldn't she be? Why _shouldn't_ she be? If she hurried, she could be there in less than ten minutes…

And it was just a night early after all, her inevitable visit to his crypt.

***

Shivering slightly in the cold, she knocked. 

She'd decided to knock when she recalled how this first visit had gone the last time around. She'd walked in and almost got impaled by a dagger. So _not_ looking for a repeat performance.

But when there was no response from within, the Slayer became agitated. 

__

The last time…the last time, it wasn't even tonight. Maybe he isn't even in. Maybe he's off playing kitten poker, for all I know.

Stupid excuses. She could feel him. So why wasn't he getting the door? Could he even tell it was _her_ waiting and not some card shark or something?

She pushed the door open a little too hard, wincing when the bang resonated through the silent graveyard. Just a bit reminiscent of those darker times, when she'd come here so often, slamming the door open, trying to satisfy the dark hunger within her…

Buffy shook it off and peered instead into the gloom. And it was dark inside, much darker without the candlelit illumination she had come to expect.

"Hello?" she asked hesitantly. There was no response. "Um, it's me, Buffy. So don't throw a knife at me or anything, okay?"

A distant crash echoed from somewhere deep inside the mausoleum. 

She frowned and stepped into the dank interior. Another crash, and this time, a disturbing high giggle. From the lower levels.

"Spike? That you?"

She felt her way to the opening, knowing the path as well as the back of her hand. Blinking down into an even darker chamber, she tried to discern any movement.

"Spike? Are you okay?" she called a bit louder.

Another strange giggle. This one was somewhat closer. "Just fine, love. Want a drink?"

The Slayer involuntarily shuddered and took a step back. So _that_'s what he had been doing the first night she was back, when everybody was getting possessed. 

She felt a twinge of guilt for leaving the house. When Willow called Xander…that was when Anya had gotten possessed, right? She should've warned them.

The sound of something heavy stumbling closer to the dark opening drew her attention back. That, and the stench of whiskey.

She wrinkled her nose in time for the blonde head to stick up and squint at her. The platinum glowed in the dark.

"Shouldn't you be tucked away in your beddie-bye?"

Okay, drunk and still randomly observant. She could handle that.

"Couldn't sleep."

Another highly disturbing giggle, interrupted by a hiccup.

"'Course not. Willow's getting pretty strong, ain't she? Bringing you back. It's hard to get a good night's death around here." Another laugh.

The Slayer looked away. Somehow, this wasn't exactly what she'd envisioned.

He climbed out all the way and took a swig out of a half-empty bottle, then gestured around the dark crypt.

"You can sit down. Got furniture."

Buffy decided it was better to decline the offer; although her eyes were adjusting, she couldn't really see much in the inky darkness.

He continued, oblivious.

"You should see the downstairs, too, it's quite posh." He shook his head suddenly. "That's not important, though. No…I need to talk to you. Needed to get pissed to do it, but…"

She nodded, silent.

__

Go on.

"Uh…I do remember what I said. The promise. To protect her—"

She swallowed the lump that suddenly formed in her throat. "Spike, maybe you should just get some rest."

He waved the bottle at her. "Don't. I've finally worked up the balls to say this, so let me finish, Slay—Buffy. I should've kept that promise. If I had done that...even if I didn't make it...you wouldn't have had to jump."

Buffy shook her head, salty tracks sliding down her cheeks. The last time it hadn't touched her. This time, his words went straight for the jugular, straight for her heart.

__

"I mean it, I've gotta do this." 

Just like that, for her. Always for her. He would die for her, always and forever.

"…But I want you to know I did save you. Not when it counted, of course, but...after that. Every night after that. I'd see it all again...do something different. Faster or more clever, you know? Dozens of times, lots of different ways..."

Without thinking, she said the last words with him.

"Every night I save you."

She watched the astonished glimmer in his eyes for a moment, her own adjusting to the dark. Then she gave a small smile and placed a warm hand on his shoulder. The astonishment turned to disbelief.

"Get some sleep, Spike. I'll see you tomorrow."

***

The bright sun shone on the green grass, warming the occupants of the lawn chairs spread out under its benevolent rays.

"This is very bad. Very, very, very bad. Bad."

Anya rubbed his back and patted his head, then shot knowing looks at Willow and Tara.

"He's all traumatized," she said in a stage whisper.

Willow wasn't sure whether it would be appropriate to laugh or not. Finally, she decided to save Xander some of his dignity. After all, this was one of her oldest and bestest friends. "Buffy mentioned something about it last night. Like…like how it might've appeared when…because of what I…what _we_ did." She paused. "Well, whatever it is, it's not the-the traditional haunting, because i-it's not limited to one specific place, and there's not, you know, a dead person."

"Not anymore," Tara added shyly.

"I bet it's a hitchhiker," Anya announced.

  
"A hitchhiker?"

"Um, standard way to travel through dimensions. Uh, some demon-thing sees someone moving between worlds and grabs on for the ride."

"You mean like, some hell-beastie rode in with Buffy?" the redheaded witch asked.

__

Like we—no, not we, I_--am really are responsible for this? The others didn't know about all the things that could've gone wrong. They didn't know._

__

I never told them.

  
"Maybe Buffy was right," Tara said quietly, so quietly that only Willow heard.

It only served to send another wave of dark guilt into her gut, smothering her.

"I think we shouldn't've brought Buffy back. I knew it was going to end badly. I should've said something," Anya said loudly.

Her fiancé pointedly ignored her, instead focusing on Willow's last words.

"Okay, fine, but...what are we gonna do? I mean, I'm feeling the need for some vigorous doing, you know?"

"It's okay. We-we just kill the beastie and then all is good. We're rolling in puppies!" Willow declared forcefully. 

A pause.

"...Right?" she added hesitantly.

"Can we do that? Kill it?" Xander wondered.

"Or we could wait for it to go away."

Everyone turned in surprise, squinting at the sun. There, silhouetted in glowing golden light, was the Slayer. Holding a mug of coffee, no less.

"Buffy! You're not supposed to be up," Willow said immediately, concern for her friend overriding everything else.

"How-how are you feeling? Are you okay?" the blonde witch added.

"Peachy," Buffy replied, smiling widely at the assembled group. Ah yes, good to see them together like this. So…happy. 

"So what are we killing?"  


"A demon you brought back from Hell with you," the ex-demon replied bluntly, oblivious to the daggers Willow shot her way.

Buffy looked away.

__

Yeah, I got here from hell. But this wasn't a demon I_ brought along. It was one you gave birth to, all of you. And this is just the first one in a long line of malicious offspring that you are responsible for. Which, in sum, made my life a total hell. Ironic, really…_

The Slayer bit her lip, hard enough to draw blood. Only when the coppery tang filled her mouth did she start, realizing a response was expected.

"Oh."

"It's not like how she's making it sound. A little haunting-type stuff. Boo-scary, everything's normal," Willow said immediately.

"You shouldn't worry about it," Tara added.

Buffy gave both Wiccans a warm smile. "Um, I remember something, last...night, uh...the photographs. O-of us." The smile faded.

"Buff?"

"They…changed."

Another lengthy pause.

"How did they change?" Tara asked softly.

"They were...dead. I-I-I mean…_we_ were dead. Like, um...dead bodies? But-but then they were okay. So I just, you know, figured it was me. That I was going crazy—"

"Well, maybe you are. Going crazy. From Hell," Anya interrupted tactfully.

Willow sent Anya another fuming glare.

"—Until I heard the crash from Will and Tara's room. And of course, when I walked in and saw demon-me talking to them and then disappearing into thin air. And that bulge in the wall."

"No. You're fine," Anya muttered under her breath, going back to massaging Xander's back.

"So how'd you make the connection?" Xander asked, curious.

The Slayer shook her head, unsure of what lie to say. She settled for inspecting her shoes for scuff marks.

Xander hastily spoke again, noting her discomfort. "This thing, this haunting thing, we'll fix it, and then we'll still have you back, which is...it's so important."

"Yes," Willow agreed.

"It's wonderful," Tara added.

Buffy raised her head, looking them all in the eye, one by one. 

"Thanks."

The five of them stayed there on the sunny lawn, basking in the gentle rays of the bright, burning orb overhead. Silent, lost in his or her own musings.

TBC


	8. Chicken

A/N: A bit on the angsty side. Sorry about the long time between updates!

She sent them all away hours ago, presumably to do research on the invisible people-possessing demon. 

__

Dawnie's gonna get possessed, and then it'll be Xander's turn.

She felt a twinge of guilt for not telling them exactly what would happen. For not protecting her sister, her friends. For letting them get hurt.

But this demon was already loose. She didn't know another way to stop it.

__

Better the evil you know.

No, no! That wasn't true. How could she even think that? She'd seen what was ahead. And anything, _anything_, would be a better alternative. Anything. That future had hit rock bottom. So she could only go uphill with any changes, right?

Changes. Right.

She really should make a list.

~ TO DO: ~

Get rid of hitchhiker demon. 

2. Get steady job (NOT at Doublemeat Palace). Give retail another try. NOT construction. Those lousy chauvinistic bas—

3. Swing by Doublemeat and slay "old lady" that likes cherry pie.

4. Find Nerd Herd. Eliminate as necessary (jail? Mexico?).

5. Fix basement. Call plumber _first_ this time. 

6. Ask Wills & Tara for tutoring help _before_ going to classes.

7. Make sure Dawn stays in on Halloween.

8. Make sure Xander doesn't get "musical-happy."

9. Try to get Wills & Tara to talk things out; get Willow to ease up on magick.

10. Have a talk with Dawn about the kleptomania.

11. Have a talk with Angel. Kick his ass…even if he doesn't know what he did wrong…or, in a manner of speaking, will never actually do. But still—he was a blockhead and…and…yeah. 

12. Talk to Xander about Anya. Tell him to talk to her before rushing things.

13. Have a REAL talk with Spike. Do NOT jump him in any alleys, abandoned buildings, cemeteries, backyards, etc.…until said talk.

14. Get Giles to stay. 

Buffy sucked on the pen for a while, racking her brain for any other things that had happened that year. 

Oh, right! Riley.

15. Make sure Spike doesn't harbor those Suvolte demon eggs.

16. Get Riley to remove chip.

17. Think of more things to do.

That was basically it. The other things that had happened…they would _all_ be prevented. Every last one. 

Now for the long run:

17. Think of more things to do. Warn Council about possible rise of the First. Tell them to monitor the Potentials, maybe gather together and give them real training. Best-case scenario: Sunnydale.

18. Get Willow to track Caleb. Find out where he is, and then kill him before he can do more damage, ASAP.

19. Guard the seal. Make sure no one digs it up.

20. Find the vineyard. Get the scythe.

21. Have Will & Tara do the spell. Make the Potentials all Slayers. That takes care of the army needed to win…or at least temporarily incapacitate. Whatever it was that happened to the First.

She put down the pen. There! That was a good list to work on. She ripped the piece of paper off the pad and tacked it to the corkboard. 

***

He blinked and raised his head. The effects of the hangover chose that precise moment to hit full-force. 

He dropped his head with a thud.

Wait a minute…no thud. He wasn't on the hard floor of the crypt, where he'd assumed he had probably passed out last night. No, he was on something soft…the bed? A neatly made bed, no less.

How'd he end up there, if he'd passed out drunk last night? And judging from the sheer size of his headache, he'd probably broken the record on "passed-out." So…

The events of last evening drifted in and out of focus, disconnected and fragmented. The alcohol…smoking outside, beneath the window…Buffy…

Buffy! Back. Buffy was back. And he could tell it was daylight now, which meant…yes, she had come back last night. Just several hours ago.

And, and…the flashes of images.

Yes. She'd been here. He could still smell her lingering scent. _She_ had been _here_. In this very room. Her hands had touched these very sheets.

__

Oh bollocks.

She'd been here whilst he'd been _drunk_. 

The vampire had an urge to rip his hair out by its bleached roots. 

__

And I can't even remember what I did last night. When she comes by to stake me, I won't even know what I've done to piss her off this time.

Just bloody great.

Spike loved to brood as much as the next soulless vampire—and one had to admit, morose musing and self-berating on the topic of how once-trusty Jack Daniel's had just ruined one's un-life was a bucket of fun—, but he couldn't help wondering why, if he'd royally pissed the Slayer off last night, he wasn't in an ashtray at the very moment. Why was he still undead?

Maybe, just _maybe_, he'd already been stone cold when she'd come around. That was the only possibility. The vampire knew that if he'd been halfway coherent, he'd have said some things that the Slayer could do without hearing.

But no…he remembered smelling her perfume. And not just the lingering traces of it, mixed in with her scent.

And if he thought hard enough, between the attacks of the migraine pounding his skull in half, he could halfway recall speaking to her in the dark. Last night…

Oh bollocks. He'd said all the sappy bits, poured out his shriveled, dead heart. Practically shoved it on her lap. 

Had she laughed?

***

She climbed the stairs, up to her room. She needed to restock her weapons…or at least change. 

__

Anything to stop the thoughts racing around in my head. Or, to be more exact, the thoughts that I'm repressing and trying not to think about. Because thinking is bad. Very, very ba—

'Cause one could never be too careful on a daytime patrol. Yeah, just when the sun shone with all its glory and one thought it was safe, bad things would happen. 

__

That's the good ol' Sunnydale spirit.

The Slayer opened the door—and stopped. 

"D-dawn? What are you doing in here?"

The teen turned from the bulletin board, an unreadable expression on her face. 

__

At least her eyes aren't white.

"This." Dawn furrowed her brow, holding up a somewhat crumpled piece of lined paper. "What is this?"

Buffy's stomach did a flip-flop. She could suddenly taste the pancakes from breakfast, with a syrup of bile and stomach acid for extra flavor.

"N-nothing," she said quickly, willing her body to move and snatch the flimsy piece of notebook paper away from her sister before her secret was out. But she couldn't force her limbs to cooperate. And it didn't help that the cat was pretty much already out of the bag.

The teen frowned, hurt shining through her blue eyes. She shook her head and let the paper drop, pushing past the Slayer on her way out.

Buffy wished that the floor would open up and swallow her. 

__

Where's the Hellmouth when I need it?

***

Willow grabbed yet another book from the pile and began searching for a clue as to what was going on.

"Um, I was just wondering…did anyone else think that Buffy seemed a little…strange?"

The redheaded witch snapped around to glare at Xander. He held up his hands defensively. "I'm just saying."

Willow relaxed about an inch. "Buffy's perfectly fine," she said a tad dubiously. "She's just…she needs some time to…to readjust and all."

Xander nodded, but the witch could tell that he didn't completely buy it. And because her best friend was hesitant, she began to doubt her own convictions.

"Why, Xander? Is something wrong?"

__

Please, Goddess. Don't let there be anything wrong. Don't force me to…

"No, no, just a feeling."

The ex-demon by his side snorted loudly. "Oh, please, Xander." She turned and regarded the rest of the congregation as her fiancé groaned audibly and buried his face in an open book. "He's just suspicious because of what Spike was talking about last night. And the vampire's right, you know. Even if he does steal all the Burba weed in stock. Raising people out of Hell is seldom good and doesn't come without consequences. Well, maybe once or twice."

A slight crease appeared on Willow's smooth forehead.

"Spike? What did you tell him?" she demanded, perhaps a mite too quickly. Tara frowned.

"Willow, chill. We didn't tell him anything. We just saw him hanging around Buffy's house last night, that's all. He was acting a little strange."

She didn't "chill." On the contrary, Willow's frowned deepened. "What do you mean, 'strange?' How strange?"

Xander shrugged and spread his hands as if to say, "duh." 

"Hello, this is Bleach-boy we're talking about. Never exactly normal. And why're we talking about him anyway?"

Anya shrugged. "I'm bored with all this talk." She gave Xander a nudge and a mischievous grin. "Let's, you know…go. Now."

"Ahn, we're researching, remember? We have to find out what this demon's all about. Why it's going around possessing and freaking everyone out."

The ex-demon just shrugged. "They can do it without us. I wanna have sex, Xander, and I wanna _now_."

Xander cringed. "_Ahn_. Don't you remember that little talk about private things that should remain…_private_?"

She just shrugged again. "Well, I tried to avoid bringing up sex, but you didn't listen—"

Anya found it difficult to talk through the hand clamped over her mouth.

"Uh, we should be going now. Be back in a few." He cautiously removed his hand. A mistake.

"It had better last longer than a few minutes mister, that's all I'm say—"

***

"So, what's the list?" Xander asked, straightening his shirt.

"Possible hitchhikers," Anya replied, rearranging her hair. She took a seat and gave a bright smile to the two Wiccans. "Demons that might have come out of Hell at the same time Buffy did."

Xander just sighed. "No, I mean the list of what Tara and Wills find out about the hitchhiker."

"Skaggmore demons, Trellbane demons, Skitterers, Large and Small Bone-Eaters. That's what we have so far. Five species of demons that have been known to move trans-dimensionally. Two of them may be invisible in this dimension, and, uh, two others can perform spells to alter perception," Willow announced.

  
"Well, that's four. What's the other one like?"

  
"Uh, like the others, only dripping with viscous fluid," Tara clarified.

Anya wrinkled her nose.

"So, should we concentrate on how to kill those, or should we try to find more?" Xander asked.

  
"I'm not sure. Maybe...maybe some of us can, uh, keep going finding more, and the others can look into ways to get rid of the ones we have."

  
"Good idea," Willow said with a nod. "I'll look into what Buffy suggested. That maybe this…thing…came from thaumogenesis."

"Whatto-whatty-sis?" Xander demanded.

"Thaumogenesis. It's when doing a spell actually creates a being," Tara clarified.

"Oh." Anya nodded. "So Spike was right. We did this. I knew the spell would mess up some way. Especially when looking at our track records."

"Hey, it's just a suggestion," Willow said defensively, unconsciously bristling at the allusion to her past mess-ups. "It's probably not thaumogenesis anyway. I'm just taking a look, making sure."

Anya shrugged. "Whatever you say."

***

The Slayer headed for her destination at a snail's pace. She needed to find Dawn and explain. Somehow. 

__

I knew I shouldn't have made a stupid list and left it lying around. Okay, pinned to a board in my room. Which is supposedly private_. But still… _

It wasn't like she was searching for her sister, exactly. She knew where the young girl was, where she _had_ to be. Dawn could always be found there when she needed comfort.

__

Guess the Summers sisters have that in common.

She knew that if she didn't pick up the pace, Dawn would end up blurting out all she had read. Which would seriously complicate things, if not blow them to smithereens.

Yet Buffy Summers hesitated at the gate. 

__

Maybe it's just because I've never been here in broad daylight before.

But even as the thought formed, she knew she was lying. She knew that it was as much facing _him_ as explaining to her sister that was keeping her from entering. And she knew that she'd probably be much more relaxed with a few shots of whiskey.

__

Wow. I got my most desperate wish granted…and I'm milling around in his backyard, trying to come up with a rationale for getting the hell out.

Well, it wasn't like he wouldn't take care of Dawn. Her sister was safe in his place, so technically she didn't _have_ to go in there and collect her, right? 

She swallowed hard. What was she afraid of? This was what she had wanted, right? Dawn's little discovery was unfortunate, but it was nothing that couldn't be explained away. There were many perfectly reasonable-sounding ideas on that list.

And she wasn't afraid, no siree. The Slayer couldn't afford to be afraid.

She strode purposefully through the tombstones. But mere yards away from the familiar crypt, she slowed and stopped. It was like moving through molasses. 

She didn't want to go in there.

She _didn't_.


	9. Mr Gordo

She didn't understand. What was wrong with her now?

Clutching Mr. Gordo tightly to her chest, she stared at the framed picture of Willow, Xander, and herself on the bedside table. A picture of another time, of innocence.

__

What is_ wrong with me?_

Why _had_ she run? _Why_? 

She was avoiding him. Avoiding all of them, putting off the inevitable.

There was so much she had to do. Get rid of the demon, pacify Dawn, talk to her friends and try to avert the next few apocalypses before they could begin.

__

And don't forget telling him how you really feel. As soon as possible.

But there was that little voice nagging at her in the back of her head. Questioning, wondering, going over the moral repercussions, the consequences. It told her that nothing could progress so smoothly, that there was no way the universe would allow her to get away with this.

__

That's the thing about magick. There's always consequences.

Great. Now her little voice was taking on a Cockney accent. She smothered that little voice, strangled it. She was doing the right thing here. She was going to spare them the pain of the next two years.

But...would it be the same? There were so many experiences we went through before, so much—

Stupid voice couldn't be smothered.

And would they even understand? Suppose she told her friends. She'd receive nothing but shock and disappointment. Perhaps even disgust and loathing for giving in to her deepest desires. They wouldn't comprehend her actions. They _couldn't_.

And yet, the friends she had in the future would understand. Maybe not completely approve, but they would understand. They would sympathize, for there wasn't one among them that wouldn't have done the same in her shoes. After all, it was Xander who had left that talisman for her to find…

__

Who we are is shaped and defined by what we have gone through. Who we are depends on our experiences.

Somebody had said that...or something close to it, at least. She couldn't recall the details. But the idea, the sentiment, was there. The seed of doubt, the mar upon her happiness, was planted.

And there was no one she could confide in but trusty Mr. Gordo.

***

"Bit, you really should be heading back. Wouldn't want Big Sis to storm in again, all angry-like. It'd be a shame if she smashed the telly this time."

The teen flopped into a more comfortable position on the ground. "It's not like she cares. I could be lying dead in a ditch somewhere for all she knows," she commented bitterly. 

"Don't think that. I'm sure—" 

"I mean, I bet she's not even looking for me. At least you'd think she'd find me to make sure I'm not off indulging in rampant kle…uh, klutziness."

Th vampire didn't miss the blush that spread across Dawn's face. He frowned as she looked down. But when the former Key looked up again, there was no trace of embarrassment on her features, only an unnatural coldness that chilled Spike to his core. 

He sensed that he didn't really want to know, but—

"What could your sis have possibly written to get you so brassed off, Nibblet?"

The coldness was now fixed on him. "None of your business," she snapped immediately, then softened her tone. Her icy gaze raised a few degrees. "Sorry. Just a little upset, I guess. The stuff that she wrote…it kinda didn't make any sense. And some of it did, in a creepy sort of way." She perked up. "Oh! And there was stuff about you, too."

Spike raised his eyebrows, glad to be easing back into the simple camaraderie he usually shared with Dawn. "Oh, really? Mind telling me what about? Or is it also something that's none of my bloody business?" he added lightly.

Dawn didn't even notice. The blush was back, burning hotter than ever before. "N-nothing…interesting," she managed to squeak, looking anywhere but at Spike.

He let it go. "Still, no matter what's got your knickers in a twist, you can't just stay here all day." He glanced toward the door. "If it wasn't bleeding daylight out, I'd drag you back myself."

Dawn smiled ruefully.

***

"I think I figured it out!" Willow exclaimed. She held up the book in her hand like it was the Holy Grail. "This demon, it's not a demon we let out. It's a demon that we made. Buffy was right."

  
"We made a demon? Bad us," Xander remarked.

  
"In this case it was like, a, a side-effect, I guess. Like a price. Think of it like, the world doesn't like you getting something for free, and we asked for this huge gift: Buffy. A-and so the world said, 'Fine, but if you have that, you have to take this too.' And it made the demon."

"Well, technically, that's not a price. That's a gift with purchase," Anya pointed out.

__

Meaning that the down payment's coming up. Probably with interest.

Willow kept her mouth shut.

__

If—no, when_—the price needs to be paid, I'll handle it by myself. No need for the others to get any more involved than they already are._

  
"If we made the demon, how come we can't see it? I mean, all we see is us, doing stuff," Xander pointed out.

  
"Well, I-I think it's out of phase with this dimension. Like, its consciousness is here, but its body is caught in the ether between existing and not existing," Willow explained.

  
"It doesn't have a body, so it's borrowing ours. I-it borrowed Anya's—" Tara clarified.

  
"Or it's manifesting copies of them, like it did when Buffy came at us—" Willow added.

  
"It's using them to do stuff. To scare us, attack us."

  
"So we need to un-create it, right? We need to send it the rest of the way out of our world."

  
"Uh-huh. Except that...it's linked to the spell. So, if we sent it away...i-it would be like the spell doesn't exist. Like it never happened," Willow faltered.

  
"Like it never brought Buffy back," Anya stated tactfully.

Willow nodded, forcing a small smile. "But that's not what we'll be doing. It's okay, because it's temporary."

  
"What is?" Xander asked.

  
"The demon. It's gonna dissipate. The only way for it to survive on this plane is if it were to kill the subject of the original spell."

  
"It would live if it killed Buffy?" Tara wondered.

  
"That's not gonna—"

Xander grinned widely, his eyes white. 

"Thanks for the tip."

***

Mr. Gordo was a bit damp when she finished her rant. He'd been a good listener.

Was she reduced to conversing with her stuffed animals now? Had she closed herself off so much that she couldn't interact with real people anymore?

But it wasn't like any member of the Scooby gang could understand. She'd known that, way back when she'd first come back from the dead. None of her friends, in the positions and places they were at, could understand.

But there was one man who might. The man she'd always ended up running to, be he mortal enemy or secret lover at the moment.

But…would even he understand?

__

No. No, of course not. He's not even the same man. 

How could anyone understand the choices she'd made, lest they'd been by her side for the past two years? There was no one here who fit the description. Not even Spike.

The Slayer turned back to her sympathetic ear and forced a smile.

"So, Mr. Gordo. Back to the topic…"

***

"Do you even _have_ any other channels?"

The vampire narrowed his eyes and reached for a cigarette. He flicked open his lighter and stared at the flame for a few moments, then dropped it back into his duster pocket. The unlit fag dangled loosely from his fingers, on the verge of meeting the other half dozen fresh cigarettes on the crypt floor.

"Aside from yet more daytime soap channels, I mean. I think you should get MTV. Or Comedy Central, at least."

The paper stick of tobacco snapped in half. Both pieces drifted to the ground and were promptly crushed by a scuffed and worn pair of Doc Martins.

"_I_ think it's time you headed back home, Lil' Bit," Spike grounded out, just slightly impatient. "You've been here for practically the whole bloody day."

Dawn just rolled her eyes. "It's been what, two hours? And you're already getting tired of me?" She shifted on the couch, turned the TV off. "It's not like Buffy gives a damn about me anyway," she added.

"Dawn!"

"What?" the teen demanded. "I'm not a kid. I can curse if I want."

"That's not what I was talkin' about—not to say that's not a good point, too. You, uh, you shouldn't say—"

"Puh-leaze. They can't be that bad if every other word you say is an expletive," she continued. "Haven't seen anyone try to wash _your_ mouth with soap."

Trying to find a proper response that didn't involve any invectives or embarrassing incidents, the vampire gave up and reached for another cigarette. 

__

Sodding Summers women.

He could never quite resist them. Could never quite escape that classic Summers pout, those big doe eyes. One of them could tell him to take a hike in the bloody Sahara during high noon and he'd probably do it.

At the moment, he wasn't quite sure what the rift between the sisters was. Things between Dawn and his Slayer had seemed fine even with the post-mortem tension—

__

My Slayer.

The vampire grimaced. 

__

Slayer never was exactly mine, not before and certainly not now.

That was another thing that didn't quite mesh. Before her…death…she'd never given him the time of day. In those final days before the battle, she'd softened a bit, sure, but then she'd needed anyone she could get for the upcoming apocalypse, soulless demon or otherwise. But when he'd first seen her coming down the staircase…

That first night back, he could've sworn there was a little something different in her eyes. Like she saw something in him, saw beyond black and white. That look in her eyes…it was something he'd seen in her expression before, of course. But never directed at _him_. 

He didn't dare hope…

Well, why had she avoided him afterwards? Probably repulsed by any drunken actions she had witnessed last night. 

__

I could use a few shots right about now.

Reaching for the half-empty bottle on the ground, Spike paused. Something wasn't quite right. Without another word, he grabbed a blanket and tore out of the crypt, not entirely sure where his feet were taking him.

The teen poked her head out of the mausoleum and frowned. Still an hour till sunset.

"Spike! Where're you going?"

***

__

She was back there again, watching the cavern tumble down. She knew that it was a dream, nothing more.

But why now? Why again?

Interlocking her hand around his almost involuntarily, she looked up into calm blue eyes. Eyes completely at peace with the world and everything in it. Eyes that smiled gently down at her.

"You can't save me, Buffy. You shouldn't have—"

The Slayer recoiled so sharply that she tripped over a piece of debris and landed on the cold and dusty cave floor…of the dark and barren cavern.

"You don't belong here."

The Slayer jumped to her feet, slowly registering her surroundings—she'd fallen asleep on the bed, Mr. Gordo crushed against her left arm—and the fact that there was a translucent demon talking to her.

And the fact that very rarely were dreams like the one she'd just had actually dreams. By now, she could tell the difference between a normal dream and—

The thing shot out a pale tendril of mist, flinging her back against wooden furniture. Scrambling to her feet, Buffy didn't bother trying to attack it. That wouldn't work until Willow and Tara did their solidifying spell.

__

He was at peace. Wherever he was, he was at peace. 

No. She couldn't think about that now. There was a battle to be won.

She focused instead on ducking the demon's attacks. Being primarily made of mist, this entity's movements weren't exactly the swiftest the Slayer had ever encountered. It couldn't hurt her unless she allowed it to—

"Did they tell you, you belonged here?"

—Except with verbal barbs it likely didn't even understand. But they hurt just the same.

"Did they say this was your home again?"

Buffy ducked and rolled, turning to face the demon. "It _is_ my home," she announced coldly.

The demon sniggered. "No, little girl." Buffy could've sworn she saw the thing smile. "You forget, child, that I am not of this world. And neither are you."

__

Oh God. Even this thing knows.

Eyes flying wide with shock, the Slayer couldn't prevent herself from instinctively trying to attack the entity. Her fist passed right through its center as it laughed.

__

Oh God. What have I done?

"Oh, I know, little girl. I know that you don't belong here." With that, it swirled around and wrapped around her waist, exploiting her moment of vulnerability. "I know what you're feeling. And I can make it all go away, all the confusion, all the pain."

__

Would that make it all go away? Please…

Buffy couldn't breath as it squeezed the very life out of her. Yet she couldn't make her body cooperate and break free.

__

…Make it all go away.

Maybe it was because she didn't want to.

***

"Xander, drive faster," Anya demanded.

"I can't!" he replied testily.

"You're like a snail. A snail who's driving a car very slowly. Come on, give it the lead foot! We've got to help Buffy with that demon you sent after her!"

Xander rolled his eyes and shot a look of annoyance at his fiancée. His still-secret fiancée.

  
"I did not _send_ the demon; I was possessed. The demon used me to eavesdrop on our conversation."

  
"Great, so now what? We have to talk in some sort of anti-demon secret code?" Anya grumbled.

A frown appeared on his face as Xander thought about it. "You know, wasn't that something along the lines of what Buffy was saying earlier?"

There was a slight pause as the car sped down the road, twenty-three miles above the speed limit.

"Maybe coming back from Hell made her smarter."

Ever the tactful one.

***

The two Wiccans faced each other on the ground inside the circle of candles, holding hands. 

__

"Child of words, hear thy makers. 

Child of words, we entreat. 

With our actions did we make thee, to our voices wilt thou bend. 

With our potions thou took motive, with our motions came to pass. 

We rescind no past devotions, give thee substance, give thee mass."

One witch stopped chanting.

"Child of words, hear thy makers. 

Child of words, we entreat—"

Willow's eyes were pure onyx.

"Solid!"

The candles extinguished and a blast of cold air appeared from nowhere, chilling the witches to the bone.

Tara glanced up sharply. But it was done.

***

The demon was playing with her. Instead of simply killing her and moving onto its demon-y antics, the thing taunted the Slayer as it slowly drained the life out of her from the inside out.

"You won't even disturb the air when you go."

Xander and Anya rushed in, breathing hard. They froze in the doorway.

Buffy didn't even notice her friends. She lay on the carpet, staring up oh-so-calmly. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. This way there would be no responsibilities, no angry little sister to deal with, no friends. No planning ahead, no lost chances.

No guilt, no regrets.

__

No regrets? Ha. 

The demon solidified into a hunk of rotting flesh. It grinned and raised the ax it had taken from her weapons chest.

The Slayer did nothing but stare up at the blade. 

"Buffy!"

__

I shouldn't have done it.

She barely noticed that the demon's head had been lopped off and was rolling about on the ground, rancid black blood pouring from the bulk of the suddenly-desiccated corpse.

She did, however, notice the iron grip of cold hands on her shoulders, dragging her upright and shaking her back to reality.

The vampire's eyes frowned. "Slayer, what were you _doing_?"

Buffy stared directly into the pair of confused blue eyes, filled to the brim with compassion yet empty of a soul. Speechless and thoughtless, she did the first thing that came to mind.

__

He was happy. Happy.

Spike's eyes shot open even wider as the Slayer's mouth enveloped his, attacking with a brutality stemming from the pent-up frustration and helpless rage of living on the Hellmouth for seven years straight. 

__

And I changed that.

She forced his mouth open with even more desperation, trying to smother her thoughts. Hoping to stave off the compunction…for now.

__

Please, Spike. Let me have this moment.

The initial surprise having faded, the vampire quickly responded and kissed her back, silently wondering if he was truly awake…and whether the Slayer was really trembling like a leaf in his arms.

They kissed in full view from the doorway where Xander and Anya still stood, completely shell-shocked. Unblinking.

Anya grinned.


	10. Falling Apart

A/N: This chapter's mostly filler. But I promise more action in the next one.

At last, despite her frantic urge to bury herself in him, she came up for air. It wasn't a conscious decision by any means; her lungs were burning. After a few deep breaths of decomposing demon, the Slayer was ready to plunge back.

But the moment had passed. Or rather, Xander had regained his voice.

"Buff, what the hell are you _doing_?"

His still-secret fiancé tugged on his arm, her eyes glued to the couple on the ground. "Xander, let's go have sex," she said in a stage whisper.

He ignored her, still completely focused on the Slayer. "Have you lost your mind? Is that it? Anya was right—you _did_ come back wrong."

Before the Slayer could get a syllable in edgewise, her long-time friend and confidante stormed out.

Anya gave a bright smile. "I thought you were all crazy from Hell at first," she admitted. "But releasing sexual tension is completely healthy—not to mention normal. So, yay! Go you! You're not crazy after all!"

"Um…I—"

"I find humans usually prefer to be alone when they have intercourse, unless they are paid lots of money to be videotaped or otherwise observed by the public," the ex-demon continued cheerfully, ignoring Buffy's half-hearted protests. "Seeing as how I am not going to give you any of my money, I'll be leaving now. Bye!"

The girl didn't bother closing the door behind herself.

A sudden stillness enveloped the chamber after Anya's departure. One that left a very awkward Buffy sitting alone on a very confused Spike's lap.

A very confused Spike that was looking at her the same way he had after they'd first kissed that time in the alley. Albeit a little more surprised. After all, this time there had been no big orchestral buildup into the moment. And not chorus accompaniment during the kiss itself.

But the way he was gazing at her was with more than just shock. There was hope for the beginnings of a relationship, love and desire mingled with the possibility of a future. 

A future together.

It was the look he had in his eyes before she'd managed to destroy him, inside and out. Before she'd taken that hope and crushed it into the dirt.

She scrambled up, backing away and glancing desperately at the floor, the walls, the furniture—anything to avoid his gaze. Anything to avoid talking about it, because this version of Spike would want to talk. This version hadn't accepted that at this point in the life of perfect little Buffy, she'd just want to screw and run off, maybe come back for a round of using the sex toy as a punching bag. A two-for-one deal. 

Sex toys didn't talk.

Talking involved thinking. Thinking led to guilt and possibly breakdowns. That was bad. So talking was bad. 

__

No talking.

"Buffy, uh—"

__

Please. Just let me forget for moment longer.

The vampire was cut off quite effectively by the warm, breathing projectile that was suddenly hurtled onto his chest. And the soft warm lips trying to devour him whole.

From the Slayer's initial attack, things progressed very quickly. Very quickly indeed. There was no telling what the outcome would have been if there wasn't a sudden gasp and a rather choked, "Oh God," from the unobstructed doorway.

__

Shit.

Buffy grabbed the closest garment from the carpet—his coat—and covered herself, her face aflame, not daring to look up at her baby sister.

__

Slutty the vampire layer.

"Uh, hey Nibblet."

Her unwitting partner-in-crime was fumbling awkwardly with his belt buckle.

"Oh God."

__

Oh God.

She was still sitting on the ground, staring at the pretty designs on the carpet, clutching the black leather so tightly her knuckles were turning white.

"Oh God."

__

Oh no. No. Nononononono—

"Uh, we weren't…it's not what it looks like." 

Poor Spike was trying to save her little sister's virgin eyes. He was just a bit late. And a tad shirtless.

Nonononononon—

"Oh God. Oh God…. Y'know what? Just forget it. I-I-I have to go. Away. To…away-ness."

Dawn turned abruptly and made tracks to her destination: away.

__

Nonononononononononononono—

The vampire groaned and began reaching for the various articles of clothing strewn around the room. "I…uh…I better go. Before someone else…yeah."

__

Nononon—No!

"No!"

He glanced at her sharply. But the Slayer hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud.

"Buffy?"

She shook her head. "Um…I…never mind."

***

She chased after the man, half wondering just how he managed to cover so much distance with only a two-block head start. Walking. And here she was, jogging after him for the past ten minutes. Maybe it had something to do with these new heels. Oh sure, they looked alright. But the manufacture was clearly shoddy and she couldn't recall what had possessed her to spend her hard-earned money on them. 

__

Oh, wait. Now I remember. They were thrown in for ten percent with the new shipment of chicken feet because the supplier's brother-in-law's shoe manufacturing company was going out of business. 

I can see why.

Still grumbling, Anya noted that her prey had paused to hail a cab. Hoping she was close enough, she waved her arms. "Hey, wait!"

The man didn't notice her. He climbed in and was out of sight with the flow and ebb of traffic.

"Anya?"

Turning, she scowled at her fiancé, half a block behind her. "What?"

"Who were you chasing after?"

She thought for a moment. "Oh, right. I was looking for you." Striding purposefully over, the ex-demon grabbed Xander's arm and hauled him down the street, towards their apartment.

"I can't believe you were so rude," she said matter-of-factly. "Walking out like that. I'm sure that Buffy and Spike feel you aren't supportive of their relationship."

Xander gaped at her in disbelief. "Of _course_ I'm n—"

Anya waved him off. "If I didn't know you, I'd think you were prejudiced against demon-human relationships. But it's alright. You can apologize for that little misunderstanding at a later time." She took a deep breath. "But you, mister, you made me lose that man!"

"Ahn, it's not that I'm biased against _all_ demons—wait…man? What man? Huh?"

She gestured towards the street. "The man I was following! Well, I was following you, and then I saw him. The Magic Box supplier that sold me these horribly shoddy shoes? I want my money back!"

"Uh…okay."

She conveniently forgot the part where the man had caught a cab and departed before she'd noticed Xander's presence.

"But you just _had_ to catch my attention and-and…he got away! So you better hope I get a refund, or it's the couch for you, mister. For a week. And I'm not going to give in this time."

For once Xander wasn't sure of what to say. 

His mind couldn't follow the path of insane troll logic that his fiancée had embarked upon.

***

"Willow, what d-did you _do_?"

"I—nothing! I just kinda sped up the spell a little. It-it wasn't working fast enough."

Tara wasn't buying it. "You were hooked into some seriously dark magicks there."

Her girlfriend shrugged, smiled. Reached forward. "Nothing too bad. I mean, it was nowhere as dark as Buffy's re—"

The blond witch jerked away from the redhead's advances.

"Just-just stay away from me, okay? I can't deal with this right now." Turning, she began to clean up the remnants of the spell.

"No! Tara…I…please, baby, let me explain—"

Tara shook her head, continued to pack away her supplies. "No, Willow. You're in too deep. Those magicks…th-they were pretty d-dark. _You_ were pretty dark. You…forget it."

They both knew she wasn't talking about the solidification ritual of minutes ago. 

The red-haired witch stared at the hardwood floor. Shooting a desperate look at her, Tara grabbed her bag and headed for the exit.

She was halfway to the door when Willow grabbed her arm.

"Tara, please! Listen to me! Buffy's resurrection went fine; she's not messed up or anything, I swear. I didn't mess up—I didn't!"

Tara sighed and turned back to face her girl. True, she didn't want to talk about it. But this was the one girl she cared more about than anything else in the world. There was nothing she wouldn't do for her, even if it involved going to a place she wasn't sure either one of them could climb out of.

Even if it destroyed their relationship. 

__

I love you so much, Willow. But I understand. Love isn't just about the kissing and spending time together. It's about truly caring for someone. Putting their welfare above what you might want. It's doing what's right_, what's necessary._

She took a deep breath.

__

What's hard.

"Sweetie, we both know th-that's not true. Buffy might not seem all that different, but sh-she's not _right_. She…knows things. L-like how she said the demon was a side effect of the s-spell?"

There was nothing Willow could think of to say.

But Tara wasn't finished.

__

Because when you really, truly care about someone, it's their well-being that matters. Not whether you're with them. So many people make that mistake.

"W-willow, that's j-just part of it. You've been using t-too much m-magick. Going deeper than I'm comfortable w-with. It's b-been going on all summer, and I d-don't know if you can s-stop."

Seeing the sudden tears threatening to spill from those bright green eyes, Tara hesitated. She wanted nothing more than to kiss the tears away and tell her girl that everything was alright.

But it wasn't.

__

And pretending it is will only hurt both of us in the end. I love you too much to lie.

Ignoring Willow's tremulous bottom lip, she continued. Time for the ultimatum.

"And I c-can't be with s-someone who's…who's—"

The bell hanging above the door jingled. The somber mood broke.

"Oh God. Oh God."

Willow focused on the teen that had just rushed in.

"Dawnie, you okay?"

"Oh God. Oh God.'

"Dawnie? What happened? Is everything okay?" Tara added, trying to read the girl's blank face.

"Did the spell work?"

Tara's expression hardened. 

__

I can't let her think that this is okay.

"I-I just remembered, I th-think I left s-something. At the h-house."

Striding to the door, she was a bit surprised when Dawn grabbed her arm.

"You can't go in there."

***

__

Stop working, stupid brain.

The Slayer had paced across the carpet of her bedroom floor so many times that she'd almost worn a path from the window to the closet. She'd tried doing whatever she could to get her mind off what had transpired a mere half hour ago, including trying to clean decomposing demon out of said carpet. But she'd long given up on that.

__

I am such_ a slut. Even when I'm trying not to be. Might as well do this professionally. That might even help pay the bills and send Dawn off to college._

Wait, wait…

"A job!" she almost shouted out loud. Not that it mattered. The empty house was devoid of life.

But she'd come up with a solution at last. No, not by prostituting herself on street corners. 

She could get a job. Something that didn't involve grease, funny uniforms, or the joining of a cow and chicken. Or sleeping with people for money, for that matter.

Buffy headed downstairs, straight towards the Yellow Pages.

__

A high school diploma. Wonder what well-paying jobs that_ could qualify me for._

Ah well. Better start dialing.

TBC


	11. Red Willow

A/N: This story was posted under "angst" for a reason. Questions, comments, and flames are welcome. Oh, and the song is "Stupid Thing" by Nickel. 

"Hello? Uh…I was wondering if you have any open positions."

Buffy grimaced. The nasal voice on the other end was telling her to "hold on just one minute, dearie," like all the others. Bored, she turned on the clock radio by her bedside. One of her favorite songs was just starting to play. A great song to dance to, if she recalled correctly. 

_—A stupid thing last night_

_I called you_

_A moment of weakness_

_No, not a moment_

_More like three months of weakness_

Who was she kidding? Of course she remembered.

_I'm one step away _

_From crashing to my knees_

_One step away _

_From spilling my guts t—Pzzzzzzt!_

Before she realized it, the Slayer had slammed her hand onto, into, and through her alarm clock.

_That's another ten bucks I need to scrounge up. Maybe I should start to cut back on luxuries like food and clothing. _

But at least that particular reminder was gone. Now if only she couldn't still feel the lights of the dance floor and the weight of a to-be-flunked French test the next day she should've been studying for…

Scanning the meager remains of the rest of the Yellow Pages, the Slayer felt a strangely flustered desperation. She was down to THEATERS—Sun Cinema and still had no offerings, but that wasn't what was causing the queasy sensation and flock of bats fluttering about in her tummy. 

Maybe it was the lingering smell of cigarettes and leather in the room.

To her relief, a voice jerked her out of the funk she was quickly sinking into.

"We're sorry, dear. Maybe you could try again when business is better."

"No problem," she found herself saying. "Thanks."

Her eyes fell upon the last circled phone number. The YMCA. Ah well, she'd trained since she was fifteen. Might as well get paid for it.

"Hello?"

"Uh, hi. I was wondering if you need any help? Like, if you have a job opening. I…um…I can…fight. Teach fighting, I meant. Yeah."

A brief pause on the other end.

"As a matter of fact, we do. We're in need of tai chi instructors. Do you have any experience in the matter?"

_Does it count if my first boyfriend taught me after he came back from Hell?_

"Um, yes."

"Are you a qualified martial arts instructor?"

"Qualified? Does that mean I need one of those little certificate thingies?"__

The voice on the other end hesitated. "I'm afraid we can't hire you without the necessary paperwork, Ms…?"

"Summers," the Slayer answered, just a little disappointed that she'd exhausted her list of non-fast food jobs.

"Summers! Buffy Summers?" 

She tensed, on alert now. "Yeah. That's me. Why?"

The voice on the other end gave a nervous little laugh. "Oh, uh, you probably don't remember me. I'm Brad Thomson. We had third period together senior year."

"Uh…hi?" The name didn't register at all.

"Yeah. Look, maybe I can get you a position teaching street fighting."

Buffy's brain seemed to be moving in slow motion, the words not really making sense. "Sure! I mean…wait, don't you need paperwork for that too?"

Brad hesitated again.

"Buffy, let me be honest with you. Everyone knows Sunnydale isn't exactly like other towns."

_You can say that again._

"Let's just say the guys here want to keep the mortality rate low. Relatively low. And, well…there's a reason you were our Class Protector. I'm sure we could work something out."

A warm feeling began to blossom in the Slayer's chest.

_So maybe I'm not so unnoticed after all. Gotta give Sunnydale residents a little more credit._

"Th-that'd be great. Thanks."

"No problem. Oh, and Buffy? Thanks. I never got a chance to say it after graduation, with the Mayor incident and the school blowing up—anyway, thanks."

***

"Hey, Buddy. I've got hot wings!"

The vampire stopped pacing and looked up at the floppy-eared demon, surprised.

"Clem? What're you doing here?"

"It's movie night, remember? I brought _Monty Python." The loose-skinned demon's bright smile faded a bit as his friend drifted off again, not acknowledging his presence.  "Or we could reschedule. I could come back later." Clem waited a moment longer. "Spike?"_

The vampire snapped out of it. "Yeah. Uh, that'd be…great."

Clem sighed. "Slayer problems again?"

Spike nodded wearily. "You don't know the half of it."

The two friends settled down on the couch. No _Monty Python, but plenty of hot wings and booze._

***

She'd managed to get a job. And she called the bank to negotiate a loan, setting an appointment for tomorrow morning. They still had to do the whole interview thing, but this time the Slayer was much more confident of her chances. After all, there was the whole job factor now.

Dawn had come in with Willow an hour ago, then announced coldly that she was staying with a friend for the night. Too tired to argue, Buffy had agreed. And she hadn't seen Tara at all. Maybe the blonde witch had a night class. She wasn't quite sure.

What she _was_ sure of was that she needed to get some sleep. A lot of sleep.

She'd need sleep to accomplish tomorrow's load of business. Buffy had already told Willow about the need to track down the Nerd Trio, starting with the attempted bank robbery tomorrow morning. She'd skimped on some details—just the who, what, when, where, why, and how—but the redhead hadn't seemed to notice.

She could make up excuses and lies tomorrow, along with a pile of explanations for Dawn and Xander. And Spike.

_Oh God. I swore I wouldn't…_

The Slayer buried her head into her pillow, but insomnia was a powerful nemesis. Her thoughts tumbled in a stream of half-consciousness, threatening to force her completely under.

_Think of something peaceful. Something relaxing._

Heaven. Just a few days ago in this timeline, she'd been in Heaven. Completely relaxed, completely happy. She'd known that everyone she loved was safe. Everything she cared about was well. All was right with the world.

No pain, no suffering. Just warmth and tranquility and utter bliss.

_Hmm…I guess Angel shouldn't go to the Pearly Gates. If he gets all happy up there…_

Buffy giggled aloud, an image of Angelus breaking harps and biting angels appearing in her mind. Then she sobered. There was no violence in Heaven. No hurting. No killing.

Just peace.

Well, until her friends tore her out. Good intentions, not-so-good results. A little magick and ba-da-boom! Not in Heaven anymore. No more r & r. Forget about RIP.

_Can—can we rest now? Buffy...can we rest?_

The Slayer pulled the heavy down comforter over her head.

***

"You sure something's messed up?"

The short brown-haired boy with the herbs and "magic" bone nodded solemnly…well, as solemnly as he could with his friend snickering silently from the corner. 

"Yeah. There's a disturbance in the dimensional gates; I can't summon the demon."

The blond boy stopped laughing and glanced uncertainly at the other two as the words sunk in.

"Does that mean we can't go forward with our plan?"

The last boy, dark-haired and tall, smiled. 

"Forget the plan. I just got a much better idea. Boys, it's time to stop dreaming and start using those new toys we bought."

***

"Okay Buff, you sure about this? You sure we don't have time to tell anyone else? Get backup, maybe?" Willow asked once again, still doubtful. It wasn't like the Slayer could blame her friend's misgivings; she had no proof and was offered no explanations.

But the girl just nodded again, ever so patiently. "Yeah, Will, I'm positive. Look, just work your magicks and make the villains visible and I'll deal with the demon, okay? Trust me, we don't need backup. These guys are a piece of cake. And I'll explain everything later. Promise."

Buffy didn't even bother crossing her fingers.

Willow gave a dramatic sigh. "Oh okay, just because you're my best friend. I won't ask how you know about the new nerd super-villains in town or their incredibly lame plan." She grew serious and shot Buffy a concerned look. "You said this is important and that time is of the essence. But that's the only reason I'm going with. And I expect a fully detailed explanation, possibly with little charts and graphs, when we get back."

The Slayer forced a grin. "You bet."

***

Buffy glanced around. So far so normal. It was a typical day at the local bank, people walking around doing their business. Nothing suspicious.

She glanced at her watch again. Only 8:44 AM. Still early. Last time around, her 9:30 appointment had been interrupted about ten, maybe fifteen minutes in.

"When does this start again?"

"In about 50 minutes, maybe an hour. But we should get ready," the Slayer replied tersely. "There's gonna be a demon summoning and an invisibility spell we need to prevent." 

Willow nodded, then glanced at the people moving about and relocated to a less open area and opened her bag. Buffy began scouting the perimeter—just in case. Of course the most effective way to accomplish that was to stand in the center of the reception area.

The sight of a young blond woman tightly clutching a bulky black bag and shooting terse, suspicious looks around the semi-busy bank drew the attention of a man walking past. 

Frowning slightly, he approached her. "May I help you?"

Buffy immediately adopted an innocent smile. "Hi, Mr... Uh, hi! I'm here for an—for a…" Her eyes fell on the large clock on the wall. "…For my appointment! Uh, I need a loan. I was kinda wondering where the office for that was…" To prove her point, the Slayer looked around briefly, confusion on her face.

The man's frown became a slightly strained smile. He held out his hand and Buffy shook it awkwardly. "Ms. Summers? I'm Carl Savitsky. Loan Officer. I thought our appointment was at nine?"

Buffy made a show at checking her watch. "Oh! I guess I got here a little early." She gave a nervous little laugh, darting a quick glance at the corner where Willow was spreading out herbs, candles, and dried animal parts. The witch smiled and gave her a quick wink.

The loan officer looked in the direction Buffy was turned toward, frowning as he didn't notice anything out of the ordinary or particularly interesting. Just a water cooler, a few potted plants…

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind.

"Uh, Ms. Summers, I'm free now. If you'd come right this way…"

Carl Savitsky frowned once again as the small blond girl glanced at the empty corner before following him to his office.

***

"Why do we have to get up so early, Warren? You said we could sleep in till 8:30."

"I—_we_—changed the plan, remember? We're starting earlier. Now shut up."

Andrew nervously clutched the "toy" Warren had handed him to his chest. It was awfully heavy. Why'd he always get stuck carrying heavy artillery? He bet Lex Luther never had to lug around bulky weapons. 

"Hey Lamebrain, get into position. We're going in as soon as Shorty finishes his spell."

***

Willow was starting to feel better. Maybe coming out with Buffy on a mission was just what she needed. Tara had been avoiding her lately, saying that the redhead's magick was going out of control. But she'd just pulled off a simple camouflage glamour with no effort at all. Tara was just overreacting.

Yeah, that was it. She wasn't doing anything wrong, after all. And she hadn't been when she'd made that demon thingy flesh. After all, how could helping Buffy defeat a baddie be bad?

_And resurrecting my best friend, that was definitely of the good. _

Right. Of course it was the _right thing to do. Buffy had been trapped. She didn't deserve to be in Hell for saving the world. She deserved to live, to be with her family and friends…_

There was nothing wrong with bringing her back. Nothing wrong, no consequences she couldn't handle.

Nothing at all.

_Nothing._

And if she told herself that enough times, she just might start to believe it.

The Wicca sighed and continued setting up the ingredients. She was so focused on introspection and guilt that she didn't sense the glamour being cast outside the building.

***

Xander rang the doorbell and waited. When no one answered, he eased open the door and peeked in.

"Hello?"

"Just a minute!" Dawn's voice rang out from upstairs.

He sighed and glanced at his watch, tapping his shoe a little impatiently on the hardwood floor of the foyer. Buffy was one of his best friends. She'd saved his ass more times than he could easily count. 

You'd think he could trust her to be ready on time.

"Is she ready to go?"

Dawn clumped downstairs in flowered blue PJs. 

"Who? Buffy?"

Xander nodded slowly. "Uh, yeah. Where is she?"

Dawn yawned, thinking hard. "I think she left already. Uh, there's a note or something on the fridge. I think."

Frowning slightly, Xander strode to the kitchen, tailed by a slightly sleepy teen. He stopped before the familiar refrigerator door

"So, what's it say?"

His frown deepened as he re-read the note once again before facing the girl. "I guess Buffy headed out early and…with Willow. By themselves, to investigate a—a situation." He glanced at her. "Nothing dangerous, of course. Nope, no danger at all."

Now Dawn frowned. Xander was trying too hard to be nonchalant.

"No danger?" 

He swallowed. "I'm sure it's nothing." He glanced at the small slip of paper again. "I mean, they didn't even ask for backup. But…you know what, I'm going to head over to the bank. Pop in to check up and make sure everything's just dandy."

***

"Ms. Summers…did you bring _any tax reports, past credit reports, property va—"_

"Uh…no. I uh, wasn't sure what to bring, so I…didn't bring anything. But hey, better than old report cards, right?" She gave a fake laugh.

Mr. Savitsky was not amused.

"But, hey! I got a job at the YMCA. And I've got a house." Seeing the loan officer about to argue, she beat him to his own words. "And, yeah, Sunnydale's property values have never been competitive, but I've still got a house. And that's gotta be worth something, right?"

The man gave a grudging nod.

_Ooh, score one for the Slayer._

"But I'll need a letter of confirmation from your employer and an estimate of your salary first."

Buffy pouted.

_Well, at least I won't have to end up at the Doublemeat this time. Speaking of that, maybe I should hunt down the cherry pie-loving old lady demon before any more innocents are killed. Though I'm not sure Manny counts as an "innocent."_

She smiled to herself, briefly contemplating letting the obnoxious manager become demon chow. 

_Nah. Wouldn't be right. I'm the Slayer, after al—_

Raised voices echoed from outside the small office. Yells and…_a scream_.

Buffy bolted.

***

There was nothing, and then there were people. People camouflaged much the same way she herself was hidden—out of sight of whomever she chose—but she could feel them just the same.

There were three of them, heading toward the teller desks. Toward the money drawers. 

Okay, that meant the demon was probably on its way too. She scanned the surroundings with her mind, but couldn't find any hint of demonic activity. Strange. Maybe they were planning on calling up the demon after the robbery was already underway. So she focused on scanning the thieves themselves.

Surprisingly, she didn't feel any real malice coming from the three figures. And she was getting pretty good at reading auras, having picked up a few tricks from Ta—well, okay, there was a little bad intent radiating from one of them, but only nervous excitement from the other two. Much like Xander waiting two hours in line to get some new comic.

Willow shrugged. She ended her own enchantment and called together the power inside herself, feeling the elation as it gathered, spreading from the roots of her hair to the very tips of her fingers.

With barely an effort she ended the shoddy camouflage charm. The three boys were exposed halfway to the money drawers. They froze as the tellers looked up, confused, angry, and just a little terrified. Maybe the guns the boys carried had something to do with that.

Hey wait a minute, she knew those guys! Well, two of them at least. One was Warren, the guy that had built April and later the Buffybot. And the short one was Jonathon. As for the other blond one…well, she didn't know who he was. 

But the other two…she had _gone to school with these guys. And now they were robbing a bank. With _guns_._

_Those jerks._

An inexplicable wave of rage began to pervade her. She was like a glass pitcher being filled slowly with inky black ichor. It surged through her system like the Niagara Falls, filling her with power and adrenalin.

Echoes of Tara's hurtful accusations rang through her mind. But instead of allowing the guilt and shame to overpower her, Willow cast aside her conflicting emotions, settling on a single, pure constant.

The only constant: power. It was the only common denominator to all her problems. 

The short one, Jonathon, jerked as he felt the darkness of her magicks as she drew them from the very air. 

_Good. He could feel it._

She _wanted_ him to feel it, to feel all the pain she'd felt these past few weeks. And when he turned wide, frightened brown eyes on her, yelping in surprise and backing a few quick steps away, she only smiled.

Smiled and raised fingers crackling with blue electricity.

_Little Jonathon._

She was going to just scare him a little, ruffle him up a tiny bit. Nothing serious, of course. After all, he wasn't really a _bad guy. An idiot maybe, but not truly bad._

Then she saw the gun he raised with shaking hands, its muzzle pointing directly at her chest.

_How _dare_ he?! I can incinerate him with half a glance, and he dares to point a mere gun_ at me? A crude, barbarous _gun?_

Before she knew what had happened, there was a smoking pile of charred bone and molten metal where Jonathon had trembled mere moments before.

_Oops?_

***

The Slayer emerged from the office to encounter one of the most terrifying sights she'd ever seen in her life: Willow, eyes black and red hair darkening rapidly, faint veins of power running down too-pale skin. Crackling blue manifestations of that power on her fingertips.

The scream had come from the terrified guy uselessly clutching an M-64. He backed a few steps away from Almost-Dark Willow, the angle of his profile changing to give Buffy a good view of his face.

Jonathon. The little guy that always felt left out, the one that was against the Troika's plans to cause true harm, the one that had wanted to help out when the episode with Dark Willow had gone down. And according to what Andrew had said, he was the one that had wanted to help out with the First, too.  Too bad he didn't leave that basement breathing.

But first, what was wrong with Willow? How did she get so…how could she have been so jacked up on darkness to lose control this easily? This early? It wasn't even November yet, and Willow was already…

Buffy shook herself from her thoughts. The important thing was to calm her best friend down before anything happened that neither of them could take back. Although that might be a little hard, seeing the cold, predatory smile distorting Willow's features.

Warren, Andrew, and everybody else in the bank had noticed the rather unusual situation. Warren was backing towards the door, ready to make a quick escape if need be, while Andrew still stood rooted to the spot.

She had to try and stop her friend, before—  
  


Jonathon was pee-in-pants terrified, shakily bringing his weapon up in self-defense, hands not even near the trigger in his panic. 

But that was all it took. Willow's smile dropped dead and her eyes seemed to grow even darker. Then the blue lightening from her fingertips glowed and shot forward, striking a single target, electrocuting Jonathon so hard that his body jerked and hung suspended in midair for a long, awful moment, skin and muscle crisping instantaneously, bones and teeth glaring a shocking white before they too turned burnt black. Finally, mercifully, the still-smoking remains dropped to the ground, sending off a stench of scorched flesh, hair, polyester, and metal.

Gagging, the Slayer stumbled back. 

The witch's eyes faded from black back to green and she too stepped back, horrified. Uncertainty flashed across her features. Confusion.

_Oh Goddess. Did _I_ do this?!_

But it was too late, too late for anything. 

_Tara__ was right. She was right about everything…_

Willow could not tear her eyes away from the remains seared onto the marble-tiled floor. She was so focused on the grisly evidence that she almost didn't see the other man from the corner of her eye, his weapon leveled at her with much more sangfroid than his unfortunate friend.

Willow looked at Warren full in the face, pain etched onto her every feature, hot tears spilling down her cheeks.

His aim never wavered.

***

She aimed the remote control and killed the picture on the TV. Saturday morning cartoons were on reruns and she was too worried to be enjoying them anyway. 

Sure, she was a little mad at her sister. Buffy had been so distant ever since she came back from hell…which, honestly, Dawn couldn't blame her for. But still.

Buffy had been ignoring her, even _accusing her—okay, not exactly to her face, and maybe she was right—of stealing._

Still. 

Her sister had been acting weird ever since she came back. Dawn had even caught her macking with Spike in a bedroom with the door open…and it had seemed like things would've gotten extremely X-rated if she'd shown up even seconds later.

Alone in the living room, Dawn shuddered at the unwelcome image. Even if she might've once harbored a crush on the peroxide vamp, that had only been a fleeting affair, a silly school-girl crush. Seeing her sister and surrogate big brother going at it like bunnies by the carcass of a dead demon on the newly vacuumed carpet would have put her in therapy for years.

But that wasn't the point. Despite all her faults, Buffy was Dawn's sister. 

And Dawn was worried. So she thought of the only person she'd ever gone to during the summer whenever she contemplated Buffy.

Suddenly it didn't seem to matter as much that she'd seen him semi-naked getting his face sucked off by her sister. No matter what, Spike could be counted on. Especially when it was Buffy who might possibly be in trouble.

***

First there was Willow losing control, turning into Dark Willow. 

Then there was dead and fried Jonathon, stuck on the floor. 

Then there was Warren, long rifle leveled. 

Then there was a single gunshot.

Then there was Willow staring into nothingness as she toppled backwards, a perfectly round hole centered in the middle of her forehead.

The Slayer stared, transfixed, at the glistening pool that spread around her best friend's face like a grotesque halo, turning the witch's sleek orange-red locks into a dull, wet and lumpy scarlet mass.

And still, Willow's green eyes stayed open, staring upwards even as pink specks of brain dotted her pale complexion, sprinkled lightly across her cheeks.

The Slayer lost it. It took her only two steps and a flying leap to reach the murderer. 

And then the still-warm muzzle of his killing weapon was peeking out from the back of his neck. Buffy stepped back calmly and watched as Warren feebly clawed at the weapon jammed in his throat, through the little hollow just under his Adam's apple. She watched as he gurgled, blood and pink bubbles oozing from the new holes in his anatomy, blood and bile spilling from his slightly open mouth.

_So much blood…_

She stared as he dropped to the ground with a sickening thud, one leg twisted unnaturally beneath him. 

Buffy only broke her stare when screams from spectators finally started. With the barrage of outside noise came her mind and conscience, rushing back in a tidal wave that threatened to sink her under.

_Oh God, I just killed a man…_

She didn't realize her knees were buckling till a pair of warm, suntanned arms grabbed her waist and a familiar voice called her name.

"Buffy! What's going—whoa! Oh, oh, ugh." So he'd noticed Warren.

But where had Xander come from? Was she hallucinating? Was—

Oh, right. He was supposed to pick her up this morning and take her to the bank. She'd forgotten to inform him of her change in plans. He'd probably seen the note on the fridge and came to see if she needed any backup.

"Oh God. What-what the hell happened? Who…what…" He trailed off, gaze shifting to the next display, the burnt remains of Jonathon.

Xander gagged and turned, emptying his stomach of a hasty breakfast.

"Oh…that's just…that's just…" He looked away, unable to bear the sight of twisted metal bent around the charred bones. Unfortunately, there was only one remaining sight to focus on: the still body of the girl he'd known since playgroup.

This time it was Buffy who held her friend upright.

***

Nibblet's words momentarily cleared the lingering effects of alcohol and fueled his trip through the sewers, getting him to the basement of the local bank in record time. Once there, the noises of chaos and panic gave him the extra burst of speed to race to the surface, towards the commotion.

Of course, the scent of freshly spilled blood didn't exactly deter his course either. 

But nothing could have prepared him for the sight of the bodies lying almost in a straight line from the dark interior to the floor-length windows.

Closest to him, her blood fanning out like gauze scarves, was Willow. The red-haired witch he'd always had a soft spot for lay with a marble-sized hole in her forehead, eyes glazed over in an eternal stare.

The vampire shuddered.

The next corpse wasn't recognizable. No blood at all, just blackened bone crumbling to ash.

The smell was revolting. Suddenly the wings and booze didn't seem like such a good idea after all.

Spike stopped breathing and glanced at the last body. Warren Meers. Builder of the Buffybot. Huh. A weapon was jammed through his windpipe. Something that he would've appreciated back in the old days, before Bu—

The vampire's gaze shifted up, past the body, to the two people huddled against the glass.

Buffy. Amidst the panicked crowd, pushing and shoving each other to get out the front door, stood the Slayer. The whelp was with her, shaking with silent sobs. Buffy had tear tracks running down her smooth cheeks as well. 

He wanted to kiss those salty trails away. The Slayer's tears, not the carpenter's.

But before he could rush over into the pool of sunlight, she had looked up and was already on her way over, offering the grisly remains a wide berth. 

He wasn't quite sure what to expect, but it certainly didn't involve being enveloped in Buffy's arms and smelling her vanilla shampoo. Not that he complained, mind you.

For the moment he just held her, sharing in her grief at the loss of a best friend. He made small noises of comfort and awkwardly patted her shoulders as she sobbed. But after a while he felt the weight of eyes watching, despite the fact that the bank was now deserted.

He met the whelp's despondent gaze over the blond head buried in his shoulder. For a moment hostilities were forgotten as both men grieved and wondered just what the heck was going on.

TBC


End file.
